The Guide

by R. K. Narayan

  “But here I committed a blunder. I said haughtily, ‘Everyone except you likes it.’

  “ ‘For instance?’

  “ ‘Well, Raju saw me do it, and he was transported. Do you know what he said?’

  “ ‘Raju! Where did you do it for him?’

  “ ‘At the hotel.’ And then he said, ‘Come and sit here,’ pointing at the chair, like an examining doctor. He subjected me to a close questioning. I think it went on all night. He asked details of our various movements ever since we came here, what time you came to the hotel each day, when you left, where you kept yourself in the room, and how long, and so on; all of which I had to answer. I broke down and cried. He got from my answers enough indication of what we had been doing. Finally he said, ‘I didn’t know that that hotel catered to such fervid art-lovers! I was a fool to have taken too much decency for granted.’ Till dawn we sat there. He on the bed, and I on the chair. I was overcome with sleep and put my head on the table, and when I awoke he was gone to the caves.

  “Joseph had left some coffee for me. I tidied myself up and went down in search of him. I felt I had made the capital blunder of my life. I had been indiscreet in talking to him as I had been indiscreet and wrong in all my actions. I realized I had committed an enormous sin. I walked as in a dream down to the cave. My mind was greatly troubled. I didn’t want anything more in life than to make my peace with him. I did not want to dance. I felt lost . . . I was in terror. I was filled with some sort of pity for him too—as I remembered how he had sat up un-moving on the bed all night while I sat in the chair. The look of despair and shock in his face haunted me. I walked down the valley—hardly noticing my surroundings. If a tiger had crossed my path, I’d hardly have noticed it. . . . I found him sitting in his cave, on his usual folding stool, sketching out his copies. His back was turned to the entrance when I went in. But as I got into the narrower entrance the light was blocked and he turned. He looked at me coldly. I stood like a prisoner at the bar. ‘I have come to apologize sincerely. I want to say I will do whatever you ask me to do. I committed a blunder. . . .’

  “He returned to his work without a word. He went on as if he had been alone. I waited there. Finally, when he had finished his day’s work, he picked up his portfolio and papers and started out. He put on his helmet and spectacles and went past me as if I had not existed. I had stood there for nearly three hours, I think. He had measured, copied, noted down, and examined with a torch, but without paying the slightest attention to me. When he went back to the bungalow, I followed him. That’s where you saw us. I went to his room. He sat in his chair and I on the bed. No word or speech. You came into the room again. I sincerely hoped you would leave us and go away, and that we could be peaceful between ourselves. . . . Day after day it went on. I stayed on hopefully. I found that he would not eat the food I touched. So I let Joseph serve him. I ate my food alone in the kitchen. If I lay on the bed, he slept on the floor. So I took to sleeping on the floor, and he went and lay on the bed. He never looked at me or spoke. He arranged with Joseph and went down a couple of times, leaving me alone in the bungalow. He returned and went about his business without worrying about me. But I followed him, day after day, like a dog—waiting on his grace. He ignored me totally. I could never have imagined that one human being could ignore the presence of another human being so completely. I followed him like a shadow, leaving aside all my own pride and self-respect; I hoped that ultimately he’d come round. I never left his side even for a moment, whether in his room or in the cave. It was a strain to remain speechless in that vast lonely place. I thought I had gone dumb. Joseph was the only one to whom I could say a word whenever he appeared, but he was a reserved man and did not encourage me. I had spent three weeks thus, in a vow of silence. I could not stand it anymore. So one night as he sat at his table I said, ‘Have you not punished me enough?’ My voice sounded strange, and like someone else’s to me after so many weeks. It had a booming quality in that silent place that startled me. He started at the sound, turned, looked at me, and said, ‘This is my last word to you. Don’t talk to me. You can go where you please or do what you please.’

  “ ‘I want to be with you. I want you to forget everything. I want you to forgive me—’ I said. Somehow I began to like him very much. It seemed enough if he forgave me and took me back.

  “But he said, ‘Yes, I’m trying to forget—even the earlier fact that I ever took a wife. I want to get out of here too—but I have to complete my work; and I’m here for that. You are free to get out and do what you please.’

  “ ‘I’m your wife and I’m with you.’

  “ ‘You are here because I’m not a ruffian. But you are not my wife. You are a woman who will go to bed with anyone who flatters your antics. That’s all. I don’t, don’t want you here, but if you are going to be here, don’t talk. That is all.’

  “I felt too hurt. I thought that Othello was kindlier to Desdemona. But I bore everything. I had a wild hope that in the end he’d relent, that when we left this place he might change. Once we were back in our home, everything would be all right.

  “One day he started packing up. I tried to help him, but he would not let me; and then I packed up my things too, and followed him. Gaffur’s car arrived. Both of us came down to the hotel. Back in Twenty-eight. The room looked poisonous to me now. He stayed for a day settling accounts; and at train time he went with the baggage to the railway station. I followed him mutely. I waited patiently. I knew he was going back to our home at Madras. I wanted very much to go back home. The porter carried our trunks. He pointed at my portion of the baggage and told the porter, ‘I don’t know about these—not mine.’ So the porter looked at me for a second and separated my box. When the train arrived the porter carried only his baggage, and he took his seat in a compartment. I didn’t know what to do. I picked up my trunk and followed. When I tried to step into the compartment he said, ‘I have no ticket for you,’ and he flourished a single ticket and shut the door on me. The train moved. I came to your home.”

  She sat sobbing for a while. I comforted her. “You are in the right place. Forget all your past. We will teach that cad a lesson by and by.” I made a grandiose announcement. “First, I’ll make the world recognize you as the greatest artist of the time.”

  “Don’t interfere, Mother. I am an adult. I know what I am doing.”

  “You can’t have a dancing girl in your house. Every morning with all that dancing and everything going on! What is the home coming to?”

  Encouraged by me, Rosie had begun to practice. She got up at five in the morning, bathed, and prayed before the picture of a god in my mother’s niche, and began a practice session which went on for nearly three hours. The house rang with the jingling of her anklets. She ignored her surroundings completely, her attention being concentrated upon her movements and steps. After that she helped my mother, scrubbed, washed, swept, and tidied up everything in the house. My mother was pleased with her and seemed kind to her. I never thought that my mother would create a problem for me now, but here she was. I said, “What has come over you all of a sudden?”

  My mother paused. “I was hoping you would have the sense to do something about it. It can’t go on like this forever. What will people say?”

  “Who are ‘people?’ ” I asked.

  “Well, my brother and your cousins and others known to us.”

  “I don’t care for their opinion. Just don’t bother about such things.”

  “Oh! That’s a strange order you are giving me, my boy. I can’t accept it.”

  The gentle singing in the bathroom ceased; my mother dropped the subject and went away as Rosie emerged from her bath fresh and blooming. Looking at her, one would have thought that she had not a care in the world. She was quite happy to be doing what she was doing at the moment, was not in the least bothered about the past, and looked forward tremendously to the future. She was completely devoted to my mother.

  But unfortunately my mother, for all h
er show of tenderness, was beginning to stiffen inside. She had been listening to gossip, and she could not accommodate the idea of living with a tainted woman. I was afraid to be cornered by her, and took care not to face her alone. But whenever she could get at me, she hissed a whisper into my ear. “She is a real snake woman, I tell you. I never liked her from the first day you mentioned her.”

  I was getting annoyed with my mother’s judgment and duplicity. The girl, in all innocence, looked happy and carefree and felt completely devoted to my mother. I grew anxious lest my mother should suddenly turn round and openly tell her to quit. I changed my tactics and said, “You are right, Mother. But you see, she is a refugee, and we can’t do anything. We have to be hospitable.”

  “Why can’t she go to her husband and fall at his feet? You know, living with a husband is no joke, as these modern girls imagine. No husband worth the name was ever conquered by powder and lipstick alone. You know, your father more than once . . .” She narrated an anecdote about the trouble created by my father’s unreasonable, obstinate attitude in some family matter and how she met it. I listened to her anecdote patiently and with admiration, and that diverted her for a while. After a few days she began to allude to the problems of husband and wife whenever she spoke to Rosie, and filled the time with anecdotes about husbands: good husbands, mad husbands, reasonable husbands, unreasonable ones, savage ones, slightly deranged ones, moody ones, and so on and so forth; but it was always the wife, by her doggedness, perseverance, and patience, that brought him round. She quoted numerous mythological stories of Savitri Seetha, and all the well-known heroines. Apparently it was a general talk, apropos of nothing, but my mother’s motives were naïvely clear. She was so clumsily roundabout that anyone could see what she was driving at. She was still supposed to be ignorant of Rosie’s affairs, but she talked pointedly. I knew how Rosie smarted under these lessons, but I was helpless. I was afraid of my mother. I could have kept Rosie in a hotel, perhaps, but I was forced to take a more realistic view of my finances now. I was helpless as I saw Rosie suffer, and my only solace was that I suffered with her.

  I could not contemplate the prospect of being cut off from the railways. I grew desperate and angry. I shed tears at seeing a new man in the place where I and my father had sat. I slapped the boy on the cheek and he cried, and his father, the porter, came down on me and said, “This is what he gets for helping you! I’d always told the boy—He was not your paid servant, anyway.”

  “Payment for him? He has swallowed all the cash, credit, and every consumable article in the shop. Fattened himself on it! He must pay me for all his gluttony, which has ruined my business.”

  “It’s not he who has ruined you, but the saithan inside, which makes you talk like this.” He meant Rosie, I’m sure; she was peeping out of the doorway of our house. My mother watched from the pyol in great pain. It was a most unedifying spectacle.

  I did not like the porter’s reference, and so said something violent and tried to attack him. The stationmaster appeared on the scene and said, “If you create a disturbance here, I’ll have to prohibit your entry.”

  The new shopman watched the scene with detachment. A whiskered fellow—I did not like his leering look. I turned on him fiercely, leaving the porter, and cried, “Well, you’ll also face the same situation, remember, some day. Don’t be too sure.”

  He twirled his whiskers and said, “How can everyone hope for the same luck as yours?” He winked mischievously, at which I completely lost my temper and flew at him. He repelled me with a back-stroke of his left hand as if swatting a fly, and I fell back, and knocked against my mother—who had come running onto the platform, a thing she had never done in her life. Luckily, I didn’t knock her down.

  She clung to my arm and screamed, “Come away. Are you coming or not?” And the porter, the whiskered man, and everyone swore, “You are saved today, because of that venerable old lady.” She dragged me back to the house; a few batches of paper, a register, and one or two odd personal belongings which I had kept in the shop were under my arm; with these I entered my house, and I knew my railway association was now definitely ended. It made my heart heavy. I felt so gloomy that I did not turn to see Rosie standing aside, staring at me. I flung myself in a corner of the hall and shut my eyes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My creditor was the Sait, a wholesale merchant in Market Road. He called on me the next day. There was a knock on the door, and there he was. I was watching Rosie at her practice, leaning against the wall and lounging on the mat. I felt abashed at the sight of the Sait at my door. I knew why he had come. He had brought a fat ledger wrapped up in a blue cloth. He seemed pleased at the sight of me, as if he had feared that I had run away from my post. I was at a loss to say anything for a moment. I didn’t want to show confusion. After the railway-station episode, I was recovering my sense of perspective again. While watching Rosie do her practice I seemed to get a clearer notion of what I should be doing. The sound of her anklets, and the whispered music she sang, her rhythm and movement, helped. I felt that I was once again becoming a man of importance. My mother, fortunately for me, had not spoken a word to me since the previous evening, and that saved me a great deal of embarrassment and strain. My mother could not help speaking to Rosie; in spite of all her prejudice, she liked the girl really and could not help treating her kindly. She had not the heart to starve her or offend her in any way. She attended on her enough to give her food and shelter, and left her alone. Only she could not trust herself to speak to me after the scene at the railway station. I am sure she felt that I had ruined, by my erratic ways, what her husband had so laboriously built up. But fortunately she did not take it out on the poor girl, but let her alone—after her usual dose of homilies and parables, all of which Rosie took in good humor.

  The Sait was a thin man with a multicolored turban on his head. He was a prosperous businessman, very helpful with credit, but, of course, expected proper settlement of debts. He was at my door. I knew why. I fussed over him, and said, “Come on, come on. Be seated. What a rare pleasure!” I dragged him and seated him on the pyol.

  He was a good friend of mine, and he hesitated to talk about the dues. There was an awkward silence for a moment. Only Rosie’s anklet-jingles could be heard for a while. He listened to it and asked, “What is it?”

  “Oh!” I said casually. “A dance practice is going on.”

  “Dance practice!” He was astounded. It was the last thing he expected in a home like mine. He sat thinking for a while, as if putting two and two together. He shook his head lightly. The story of the “saithan inside” had evidently reached him. He suppressed any inquiry regarding it as not his business, and said, “What has come over you, Raju? You have not paid my dues for months and months, and you used to be so regular!”

  “Business conditions have not been good, old man,” I said with a sort of affected resignation and cheer.

  “No, it’s not that. One must—”

  “Oh, and that boy whom I trusted cheated completely.”

  “What is the use of blaming others?” he asked. He seemed to be a ruthless man, who was bent upon harrassing me. He took out his notebook, opened it out, and pointed at the bottom of a column. “Eight thousand rupees! I can’t let this go on very long. You will have to do something about it.”

  I was tired of being told to do “something” about something. My mother started it with regard to the girl, someone else about something else, the girl had started to say, “We must do something,” and now this man; I felt irritated by his advice and said curtly, “I know it.”

  “What do you propose to do about it?”

  “Of course you are going to be paid—”

  “When?”

  “How can I say? . . . You must wait.”

  “All right. You want another week?” he asked.

  “Week!” I laughed at the joke. He looked hurt. Everyone seemed hurt by me at this time.

  He became very serious and said, “Do y
ou think it is a laughing matter? Do you think I have come to amuse you?”

  “Why do you raise your voice, Sait? Let us be friends.”

  “Friendship has nothing to do with this,” he said, lowering his voice. When he raised it the jingling inside could not be heard. But when he lowered it we could hear Rosie’s steps in the background. A smile, perhaps, played over my lips as I visualized her figure on the other side of the wall. He felt irritated at this again. “What, sir, you laugh when I say I want money, you smile as if you were dreaming. Are you in this world or in paradise? I came to talk to you in a businesslike manner today, but it is not possible. All right, don’t blame me.” He bundled up his account book and rose to go.

  “Don’t go, Sait. Why are you upset?” I asked. Everything I said unfortunately seemed to have a ring of levity about it. He stiffened and grew more serious. The more he scowled, the more I found it impossible to restrain myself. I don’t know what devil was provoking so much mirth in me at this most inappropriate moment. I was bubbling with laughter. I suppressed a tremendous urge to giggle. Somehow his seriousness affected me in this way. Finally, when he turned away from me in utter wrath, the profound solemnity of this puny man with his ledger clutched under his arm and his multicolored turban struck me as so absurd that I was convulsed with laughter. He turned his head, threw a brief glance at me, and was off.

  With a smiling face, I reentered the house and took up my position on the mat. Rosie paused for a second to ask, “Something very amusing? I heard your laughter.”

  “Yes, yes, something that made me laugh.”

  “Who was he?” she asked.

  “A friend,” I said. I did not want her to know these troubles. I didn’t want anyone to be bothered with these things. I did not like to be bothered by anything. Living with Rosie under the same roof was enough for me. I wanted nothing more in life. I was slipping into a fool’s paradise. By not talking about money, I felt I had dismissed the subject—a stupid assumption. The world outside Rosie seemed so unreal that it was possible for me to live on such an assumption. But not for long.