The Painter of Signs

by R. K. Narayan

  She was soaring on the wings of statistics which, it seemed to Raman, had had a damaging effect on her mind, and he just said, ‘You can’t be worrying about everyone in the world. Well, do your bit and let others also help.’

  ‘I am not concerned with “others” or what they do. The missionary has trained me to avoid thinking of others and to carry on as well as I could. I do not know any other method.’

  ‘What about me?’ he asked pathetically.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked without lifting her head from the calculations.

  He said quietly, ‘Tomorrow is the tenth, and at eight a.m. I’ll bring Gaffur’s car to Number Seven, Third Cross, to take you home.’

  She remained silent for a moment and then said, ‘Well, it doesn’t seem to be possible now.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked, his heart sinking.

  ‘You see why ...’ she said.

  He was shocked at her coldness and cried, ‘Have you no feeling? Have you no memory?’

  Now she put away her papers and looked up. He felt an impulse to grab her by the shoulder and shake her up, but it seemed impossible in this office. She had an official armour that discouraged any such attempt. If nothing else, the desk came between them. He contented himself by shouting, ‘I am, am I not, your husband, asking his wife to come and live with him as agreed? And you pretend as if that question is unimportant! Come on, tell me what am I to do now?’

  ‘You have your work, go on with it. You have your world, in which you have always existed happily, even before you knew me. It is always there, isn’t it?’

  ‘When are you coming to live with me, or are you not? Give a straight reply.’ No sooner had he said it than he regretted it.

  Her reply to any tone of challenge was a foregone conclusion. She merely said, ‘This is an office and don’t shout here. Those women will be coming in any minute and I don’t want you to create a scene before them.’

  He flourished his arms wildly and cried, ‘Let them come, and I will tell them that we are married by Gandharva rites and night after night we have slept together until yesterday - and today you are the champion of the poor masses. If you ask me to get out of here, I will stand in the street below and shout till I gather a crowd.’

  ‘If you want to do that sort of thing, it will be ... well, I don’t know.’

  She looked crestfallen for a moment and then left her seat, came round, and took his hand into hers. Her aura and the herbal fragrance calmed him momentarily and he sobbed, ‘May I come with you?’

  ‘No, this is the end.’

  ‘I’ll in no way interfere with you, live as you live, in the open or in a hut, walk barefoot in the forest paths, seek nothing, demand nothing, I will not mind any hardship if I can be with you. Please ...’ He felt abject and mean saying it, but desperate to move Daisy’s heart.

  She repeated, ‘No, this is the end.’

  ‘Won’t you ever come back to me, my house is ready, it will always be open and ready for you.’

  ‘Let us face the fact,’ she whispered, her breath wafting on his face. ‘Married life is not for me. I have thought it over. It frightens me. I am not cut out for the life you imagine. I can’t live except alone. It won’t work.’

  ‘Will you never come back? Some day, will you promise to think it over, my door will be open ... know that.’

  She gave a squeeze to his wrist and said, ‘Don’t hope for it, it won’t work. Today I am going to those villages in the forests and may not be free for three years. I have told you, five thousand men and women have to be taken care of immediately. After that they may move me elsewhere - even to Africa. I cannot afford to have a personal life.’

  ‘Won’t you come back to this office?’

  ‘I may not; they will soon be finding another person with whom you may arrange to collect your dues and do further work. This time I have asked them to send a man for this office and that will save you from complications, I hope ... please understand me ... calm yourself...’ He could hardly believe that he had possessed her only forty-eight hours ago. She said, ‘I want to forget my moments of weakening, and you must forget me, that’s all.’

  ‘Don’t you realize how you have disrupted my life, with my aunt gone...’

  ‘This has helped her in a way; after a lifetime of domestic slavery, she has freed herself. Why do you grudge her that in the few years left for her ...’

  ‘For your sake I have locked up her gods.’

  ‘Well, bring them back to their pedestal, before you begin to feel that they resent you and are punishing you with madness. The gods, if they are there, will look into my mind and judge whether I am choosing the right path or not; if I am wrong let them strike me dead. I am prepared for it.’ This was her first serious reference to the gods. He was overawed by her logic, shook off her hand, and turned to go.

  ‘Would you like me to help you with the packing?’ he asked.

  ‘All done,’ she said, moving away. ‘They will be fetching my things now.’ She went to her desk and gathered her papers and files, while he stood uncertainly, his wits half paralysed. She went about her work unconcernedly.

  He began, ‘Daisy ...’

  ‘Yes?’

  He did not know how to proceed; he had no words coming. ‘Daisy, you can’t leave me like this.’

  She looked up and said, ‘Calm yourself. You will be happy married to someone very different. Seek a proper partner for yourself... you can, any girl will accept you - no, adore you. You are everything a girl dreams of.’ For the first time she was sounding so emotional and personal. He noticed, at least fancied, that her eyes were misted and her thin lip twitched.

  He feared that he was driving it hard for her, and felt a sudden compassion. He asked, ‘If you found me so good, why do you abandon me to someone else? How is it possible? How can that be done? I don’t understand it at all. I think I’ll go mad if I try to understand you. That day as you lay, on my mat, in my room, in my embrace, did you not agree to make a move and start our home life on the tenth, that is tomorrow?’

  ‘At some moments, and moods, we say and do things - like talking in sleep, but when you awake, you realize your folly ...’ she fumbled on, unable to state it all very clearly. ‘Oh, forgive me for misleading you...’

  First time in her life she was humbling herself. Where was all the regal hauteur gone? He felt pleased that he had dented her armour. He pleaded again, ‘Which proved that you could abandon yourself at a moment - when you are overcome with love: you have shown a tremendous storehouse of the love, you can give a fellow new life; why do you want to kill that great gift within you?’

  She merely answered, ‘Because I have a different life chalked out.’

  ‘By whom? Who has chalked it out?’ he cried.

  While her hands were gathering her papers, she said without looking at him, ‘I can’t answer all that now. Do me this great favour - don’t again talk of the past or think of it. I am wiping it out from my mind. I can ...’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know you can. But I’ll not let anyone forget it. I’ll declare to the whole world what we have meant to each other. I swear, I will. Let those three women come, they will be my first audience.’

  ‘Poor fellow, you are going out of your mind.’

  ‘Yes, you are the cause, you have shattered my intelligence. You are bringing confusion to me. I am in a -’

  Further statements of his mental state were cut short by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The three women entered, one of them saying, ‘The car is ready. Your box is in the car, we gave the key to the main house as per your instructions.’

  ‘Three women! Unlucky for anyone - not a chance. Three witches of Macbeth, the sisters of Fate - when they arrive in threes, your fate is sealed,’ he declared loudly, glaring at them, and then asked imperiously, ‘Anyway, who are these?’ with a touch of distaste as if they were intruding into his domestic state.

  Daisy, with one hand still picking up papers, pointed with the other to each
and mentioned their names. ‘They come from different places, but in each centre they are our honorary workers, and they are doing wonderful work in their areas.’

  ‘Still, a thirty-per-cent increase of births at Nagari, how do you account for it?’ he asked.

  They looked a little abashed at this comment. ‘There are many causes for it, sir. We can’t go into details at this moment. We’ll presently investigate and give a report ...’

  ‘It won’t happen again,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Who is this gentleman?’ One of the ladies asked, overawed by his authority.

  Daisy promptly said, ‘Oh, he is a ... a ...’ She was searching for an appellation, and when Raman opened his mouth to speak, she looked nervous and gestured to him to be silent.

  But he quietly announced, ‘A painter of signs and, and ... what more shall I say?’

  Daisy intercepted, ‘An artist in lettering. He’s been a great help to me.’

  ‘You won’t believe it if I announce really what I am,’ he said.

  Daisy bustled about noisily. ‘Oh, those windows. Mr Raman, please lock them for me.’

  Raman ran up and bolted the window and the door to the balcony and then darted up and snatched the bundle of papers from Daisy’s hand. ‘Let me carry them for you, madam ...’ She looked puzzled. The three women trooped down the staircase. Daisy stayed back to lock the office door on the landing. The three women were gone out of sight.

  Raman could not resist the opportunity in the semi-dark landing. He dropped the paper bundle and clutched Daisy to his heart, saying, ‘I’ll love no one except you. Understand, you are my wife. Come back to me. I’ll keep the home always ready for you.’

  ‘Let me go,’ she said. ‘Oh, the papers are scattering.’

  ‘I’ll pick them up for you, darling, come back to me.’

  ‘Leave way, they are waiting.’

  ‘Promise you will come back to me. I’m your husband, promise ...’

  She was scared of him now, but still said, ‘I can’t promise anything.’

  ‘Whenever you change your mind, come ...’ He stooped to pick up the papers.

  She said, ‘Ram.’ He stood up, his heart aflame. ‘Give this key to the watchman of this building.’ While passing the key, she gave a warm grip to his hand and took it to her lips, then, dodging him, raced down the stairs. The other three were already seated in the car. Raman held the door open for Daisy and handed her the papers.

  ‘Ready?’ asked the driver, turning.

  Raman hailed: ‘Oh, you old owl Gaffur at the wheel? I hoped to call you tomorrow, but never mind ... Take the ladies safely. Just a moment, Gaffur, you know what I feel like doing now?’

  ‘Yes, Ram, good to see you. What do you want to do?

  ‘Drive a nail into your tyre.’

  ‘Always boyish! Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t ask for reasons. Good-bye, ladies,’ he cried, as Gaffur’s ancient Chevrolet roared and belched smoke and jerked forward.

  Raman had a last glimpse of Daisy as she sat back, almost withdrawing her face into the shadow. He reflected, Maybe we will live together in our next Janma. At least then she will leave people alone, I hope.

  Raman took out his bicycle. Waited till the Chevrolet turned around the fountain and disappeared in smoke in the direction of New Extension and on to the mountain road. He looked at the key in his hand. ‘To hell with it,’ he said, and slung it into the dry fountain - an act which somehow produced the great satisfaction of having his own way at last. He mounted his cycle and turned towards The Boardless - that solid, real world of sublime souls who minded their own business.

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  ‘Like Paul Theroux and V. S. Naipaul, Mr Narayan has a faultless ear for the intricate eccentricities of Indian English’ - The Times ‘Narayan’s is a voice of great distinction’ - Sunday Times

  Malgudi Days

  Here Narayan portrays an astrologer, a snake-charmer, a postman, a vendor of pies and chappatis - all kinds of people, simple and not so simple, drawn in full colour and endearing domestic detail. And under his magician’s touch the whole imaginary city of Malgudi springs to life, revealing the essence of India and of all human experience. ‘A treat ... he is an enchanter’ Hilary Spurling in the Observer

  Talkative Man

  Bizarre happenings at Malgudi are heralded by the arrival of a stranger on the Delhi train who takes up residence in the station waiting-room and, to the dismay of the station master, will not leave ... ‘Compulsive and enthralling quality of narrative’ - Sunday Times. ‘His lean, matter-of-fact prose has lost none of its chuckling sparkle mixed with melancholy’ - Spectator

  also published:

  and

  The Ramayana

  A Shortened Modern Prose Version of the Indian Epic