He woke to a silence that told him the rain had died down. Malati was sleeping beside him, Rachana squeezed in the corner. He put his hand on Malati’s hip, hoping his touch would wake her. But she was in deep sleep, and his thoughts kept getting louder—accusing, cajoling, condemning—until he forced himself to sit up and shake his head and groan out loud. Even that didn’t wake Malati, although the baby did cry and thrash around in her sleep.
Softly, Ramchandra got out of bed, and, finding his way in the darkness (and this tormented him even more: how familiar he had become with the interior of this house), he moved to the main door and left.
The streets were shiny from the rain, and he had no idea what time it was. Hardly anyone was out. Occasionally a car hurtled past, and from one car a drunk shouted something incomprehensible, though to Ramchandra it sounded like an admonition, a warning. With frightened steps, he walked in the direction of Pandey Palace. The rain returned, a drizzle that soaked him by the time he reached the house and stood in front of the gate. The roof was bright with colorful electric lights. All the rooms were dark, except for one window on the second floor. That was Goma’s bedroom before she married. Could she be there, awake? Where were the children sleeping? He grabbed the iron bars, leaned his forehead against them, and closed his eyes.
The sound of screeching tires startled him; it was a police van. A uniformed policeman got out and asked what he was doing at the gate of this house.
“I’m just taking a rest.”
The policeman came closer. “Are you trying to sneak in, huh? That’s what it looks like.” With his right hand, he waved a baton in the air. “Are you trying to bomb this house? Are you a communist? Which party do you belong to?”
“No party.” Ramchandra’s eyes started to water. “I’m resting.”
“Drunk? Are you a drunk? I’ll take you to jail.”
Another cop shouted from inside the van, “What’s going on?”
“I think he was trying to go inside to steal.”
“This is my sasurali,” Ramchandra said.
“Yes, of course.” The policeman laughed. “If you don’t move on, I’ll take you to your real in-laws’ house. Down at the station.” He struck Ramchandra hard on the shoulder. “Move on.” Ramchandra clasped his right shoulder with his left hand and bent over. “Vamoosh,” the policeman said before getting back in the van. Ramchandra, his shoulder flaming, stumbled away. He imagined coming to Pandey Palace in the light of the morning and telling Goma what had happened. He pictured her rubbing some tiger balm on the spot, the heat of the ointment and her soothing fingers making his pain evaporate.
He couldn’t remember how he managed to get home; his mind was a blur. But he staggered up the stairs and flopped down on the bed. The pain in his shoulder kept him from lying on his right side. Through the window, he saw the full moon, the same moon that appeared outside Goma’s window, the same moon that shone above Malati’s house, except that she wouldn’t be able to see it from her windowless room. Throughout the night he imagined noises in his apartment, footsteps creaking up the stairs, the clank of dishes in the kitchen.
After the police incident, Ramchandra was reluctant to visit Pandey Palace. He thought of his children constantly, but the realization that Goma had given up on him, that she had severed their relationship, made him numb. As Tihar drew to an end, instead of visiting Sanu and Rakesh he only talked to them on the phone. He had found a phone for public use in a shop in Malati’s neighborhood. For privacy he could take the phone inside a small room, the cord winding over rice sacks and kerosene containers, and he called the children every evening. But these conversations had begun to acquire a lethargic tone. Sanu and Rakesh had nothing to report to their father, and he had nothing to say that interested them. Rakesh once reminded Ramchandra that the story he had started, about the poor girl, had never been completed. Ramchandra assured him that the final installment would be delivered as soon as they came home.
One day the inevitable happened. Malati came in the evening for an extra session, and she ended up staying the night.
After the session, he had encouraged her to eat dinner with him, and they ate the meal that the boy had cooked for Ramchandra that morning. They made love, then fell asleep. He woke a few hours later and watched her. Her lips twitched as she slept, and occasionally her eyebrows fluttered. A couple of times she whimpered, troubled by something in her dreams. Ramchandra felt a deep affection for her, not unlike what he felt for his children when he watched them sleep. Well, Malati was a child, he thought. He reached over and kissed her, and she opened her eyes. “Ama, what time is it?” she cried. And when she saw that it was already eleven, she panicked. “Malekha Didi will kill me,” she said and hurriedly put on her clothes.
“You’re not going home at this time of the night.”
“But I have to.”
Ramchandra thought about walking home with her, but at this time of night many drunks were staggering in the streets, and there was no telling what they’d do when they saw a young woman. So he suggested they call Malekha Didi and tell her Malati would be home early the next morning.
“But where can I call from?”
The shop that had the phone would be closed by now, but Ramchandra knew the shopkeeper slept inside because he was afraid of thieves. Ramchandra would have to wake him; there was no other way.
They trudged downstairs, and Ramchandra rapped on the shop’s door. The shopkeeper’s sleepy voice asked who it was, and when Ramchandra identified himself, the shopkeeper didn’t believe him. “I’ll call the police,” he threatened. Only after a long moment did he open the door, and then he scolded Ramchandra for waking him. When the man saw Malati, he became even more irate. “This doesn’t look good,’’ he told Ramchandra. Everyone in the neighborhood by now had heard that Goma and the children had left. Ramchandra calmed him down, saying that he misunderstood the situation, and signaled Malati toward the phone.
Her conversation with Malekha Didi didn’t go well. Malati sounded defensive and apologetic, repeating, “What to do? I fell asleep. I’m sorry.” Malekha Didi’s rough voice crackled over the phone, and Ramchandra flinched with embarrassment as he heard the words “slut” and “harlot.” The shopkeeper pretended he wasn’t listening, but his forehead tightened. Ramchandra snatched the phone from Malati and said to Malekha Didi, “This is Ramchandra here. It was a mistake. She’ll be there tomorrow morning. Please calm down.”
His voice apparently triggered something in the woman, for she started cursing him in terms he’d never heard before. “Motherfucker. Pig’s ass.” Ramchandra handed the phone back to Malati and looked apologetically at the shopkeeper, who stood at the counter, ready to snatch the phone away. Malati was saying, “Please don’t say such things, Malekha Didi. Please.” And then she hung up, because Malekha Didi had slammed down the phone.
Ramchandra gave the shopkeeper an extra five rupees, which he took with a grunt.
Back upstairs, Malati sat on the bed, unable to sleep. “She hasn’t been this angry in a long time.”
“But I don’t understand,” Ramchandra said. “She didn’t mind me sleeping at her house. Why is she so particular about this?”
“She’s always been unpredictable,” Malati said. “Now, I’m not sure she’ll welcome you to the house anymore.”
Neither of them slept well the rest of that night, and around four o’clock, Ramchandra got up to make tea.
“I’ll make it,” Malati said.
While she was boiling the water, he put his arms around her. “I don’t know whether I’ll be able to see you for a while.”
She poured some milk into the boiling tea.
“Did you hear what I said?”
She mumbled something he couldn’t decipher.
“I’m going to Pandey Palace today and ask Goma to come back,” he said.
She stirred the tea.
“Even if she doesn’t come back immediately, it’s best if you and I don’t see each othe
r.”
“If that’s what you think is right.”
“But it means that I may not be able to tutor you anymore.”
Her face was sad as she poured the tea. The light in Mr. Sharma’s window had come on, and he was peering in their direction, so they moved to the bedroom. Ramchandra held Malati’s hand and said, “Everything will be all right in your life.” He told her that she should concentrate on the chapters on quadratic equations and probability, since those were her weak areas. He stroked her face.
“I have brought nothing but trouble for you,” she said.
“It’s my fate. I have to deal with this.”
At five o’clock, even before light began spreading across the Kathmandu sky, Malati headed toward home and Rachana.
Ramchandra stood in front of the Ganesh statue in the kitchen and prayed, asking the elephant god to make his day successful. The prayer gave him a boost of confidence.
The shopkeeper with the phone sniggered at him as he walked by. “When is Goma bhauju coming back home, Ramchandra-ji?” he asked.
“Today,” Ramchandra said.
The air was colder than it had been the past few weeks, and Ramchandra tightened the muffler around his neck. He walked briskly, pretending he felt more confident, hoping that this affectation would spread into his surroundings and impress Goma so that she would return with the children.
By hook or by crook, he repeated to himself, I am going to get them back today.
When he entered the gate of Pandey Palace, he saw Mr. and Mrs. Pandey sitting on the porch. He greeted them with a smile, and asked after their well-being. Their cool reception didn’t deflect him. He said, “I have come to take Goma and the children home.”
“That will depend on her,” Mrs. Pandey said.
Mr. Pandey, staring into the distance, acted as if Ramchandra weren’t there.
Ramchandra leaned against the porch banister. “You could try to persuade her.”
“Why should we try to persuade her, son-in-law?” Mrs. Pandey said. “What have you given to our daughter other than unhappiness? And now you’ve done something that has shown your true nature.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She hasn’t told us anything, but that’s because our daughter is a sweet girl and won’t speak badly of you. Whatever you did, it must be pretty bad. Otherwise, why would she have left you?”
“That’s right,” Mr. Pandey said, although he didn’t look at either of them.
Ramchandra was furious. “You’ve found a good excuse, haven’t you? This was all you needed, a move from Goma. And now you’ll do anything to separate us. I couldn’t even spend Dashain and Tihar with my family.”
“What are we doing?” Mrs. Pandey said. Her face was turning red. “We’re doing nothing. Whatever is happening is between Goma and you; it has nothing to do with us.”
“You’ve never held me in any regard.” He wanted to hurt them. “You don’t want to see us together; that’s what the problem is.”
“Yes, that’s what it is,” Mr. Pandey said, rising to his feet and looking at Ramchandra threateningly. “What are you going to do? What have you done to our daughter?”
Ramchandra also stood, in case Mr. Pandey lunged at him. “You are miserable people,” he said. “You are status-hungry, money-conscious, miserable people.” He didn’t know where his courage was coming from. This was hardly a good start to getting back his wife and children, but he couldn’t stop his tongue. “You will burn in hell for your treatment of me.”
Mr. Pandey sat down, obviously debating whether he should physically tackle his son-in-law.
“Hell?” Mrs. Pandey said. “It’s you who has put us through hell all these years. With your dingy apartment, with your miserable job.”
The screen door creaked and out stepped Goma.
“You are going home with me today,” Ramchandra said.
“See what your husband is doing?” Mrs. Pandey said. “Like a lowly cobbler, he’s come to argue with us.”
“What happened?” Goma asked Ramchandra.
“Nothing happened,” he said. “Get the children ready so that we can go home.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Mrs. Pandey said.
Ramchandra took a step toward his mother-in-law. “And why not? And who are you to say that?”
Mrs. Pandey called to her servants (and she kept many of them), presumably to have them throw out Ramchandra.
“Why don’t you go inside, Mother, so that we can talk?” Goma said.
“I don’t want him here.”
“He’s my husband,” Goma said. “He has a right to come here.”
Three servants had appeared, but Goma asked them to go inside. Mr. and Mrs. Pandey also left, reluctantly.
“And why are you acting like a hoodlum?” Goma asked.
“Let’s go home, Goma. This is too much. I can’t take it anymore.”
“So, it’s all about you, then? What about me?”
He took her hand. “Please. Let’s go home and talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, is there? You’ve already made your decision.”
“It’s not like that.”
“What is it like, then?”
Ramchandra said, in a tearful voice, “I need help. I can’t live without you and the children. What happened was because something’s not right with me, and only you can help me. No one else.”
“Oh, so you hurt me, and now you want me to cure you? I am not a magician.”
“Goma, please.”
“I told Sanu yesterday what happened.”
Ramchandra stared at her in disbelief. “Why did you do such a thing?”
“Why shouldn’t I? She’s been asking me what happened. She’s been depressed.”
“And your telling her made her happy?” He didn’t want to argue with Goma, but he was sickened by the thought of Sanu looking at him with scorn.
“She’s old enough to deal with the truth.”
He was silent, then said, “I thought she was happy here.”
“She’s a sensitive girl. She was pretending, so that I wouldn’t worry about her.”
Ramchandra sat down in the chair vacated by his father-in-law. “Goma, let’s go home.”
She turned toward the gate. “What will I do there?”
“It’s your home. It belongs to you.”
The door burst open,and Sanu and Rakesh came out. Rakesh immediately complained to his father about his not having visited in a long time. Sanu remained at a distance, avoiding his eyes.
“Go pack your belongings. We’re going back to Jaisideval.”
Rakesh looked at his mother. “So soon? You didn’t tell us about this.”
Goma patted him on the head.
“What about school, then?” Rakesh asked, a trace of hope on his face.
“We’ll worry about that once we get home,” Ramchandra said.
Sanu went inside.
Ramchandra waited breathlessly for Goma’s response.
“All right,” she told Rakesh. “It’s time for us to go home.”
The taxi ride to Jaisideval was filled with silence. Even Rakesh stopped his usual chattering and pressed his nose against the window to blow vapor on the glass. Sanu sat with hands in her lap, her eyes on the crowded streets. Earlier, after she had vanished into the house, they had had to search for her. She was found in the back garden, lying on the grass and staring at the sky. Ramchandra wanted to apologize to her, but he let Goma approach their daughter and ask that she get ready. For a long moment Sanu didn’t move; then, muttering under her breath, she went in to pack her things.
The taxi driver was singing an old Nepali song, one that proclaimed heartbreak despite the protagonist’s chasing a damsel named Sani up and down the slopes and crossing the river of Bijapur: Ukali orali chadhera, Bijapur khola tarera, Sanilai bolaunda boldina, parnu pir paryo. Just to break the tension, Ramchandra first hummed along with the driver. And replacing
“Sani” with “Sanu,” he started singing. Rakesh began to belt out the song too, poking Sanu at each mention of her name. Ramchandra, who was sitting beside the driver, turned around and said to his daughter, “So, Sanu, who is chasing you, eh?” Sanu didn’t smile, and Goma said to Ramchandra, coldly, “You don’t need to teach my children about chasing and grabbing.”
Ramchandra stopped, and Rakesh went back to pressing his nose against the window. Only the taxi driver continued humming.
As they got out of the taxi, the neighbors watched. The tea shopkeeper stared at them while he was giving change to a customer. A coin slipped through his fingers and clanked its way down the street. A neighbor smiled and nodded. Inside the courtyard, Mr. Sharma leaned on his windowsill, unsmiling, and Ramchandra observed him carefully to see how he looked at Sanu, but Mr. Sharma was watching Goma.
They trudged up the stairs, and for a brief moment Goma stood on the landing, as if she felt traces of Malati’s presence. “I’m going to sleep in the children’s room,” she told Ramchandra. Sanu headed toward her room, and Rakesh went to a neighbor’s window and shouted to his courtyard friends. Ramchandra had to remind him that they’d all gone to school. It was already nine o’clock, and his school reopened today, too. He’d leave it to Goma to decide whether the children should go.
As if reading his thoughts, Goma said, “Okay, get dressed for school.”
Rakesh pouted with disappointment. “But we haven’t had anything to eat. And school’s already started.”
“I’ll give you money for snacks. Come on.”
She went to the children’s room with the bags and helped them get ready.
Sanu, passing Ramchandra on her way down the stairs, didn’t meet his eyes.
After the children had left, the apartment was silent. Goma stayed in the kitchen. Ramchandra sniffed the bedroom for the scent of Malati in the air. He peeked inside the kitchen: Goma was sitting on a pirka in a corner, her knees pulled up, her fingers doodling figures on the floor.
The Guru of Love Page 15