Helen Forrester - The Moneylenders of Shahpur

That morning, Anasuyabehn’s aunt hinted to her that her father had a well-to-do and charming suitor in mind for her. Anasuyabehn, who had done little else but dream about the new, unmarried Professor of Zoology, ever since she had seen him from the roof of her father’s bungalow, asked with interest, ‘Who is he?’

‘Ah-ha,’ responded Aunt, all cheerful coyness. ‘Your father will tell you in due course.’

Anasuyabehn could not think of any particularly eligible man who had swung into their orbit recently, other than Tilak, and she smiled happily.

Aunt had informed her brother that all was now arranged. The first gifts had been exchanged, and Aunt explained, ‘I locked them in the almira, so that they will be a nice surprise for Anasuyabehn, when you tell her that the final arrangements have been made.’

The Dean smiled. He liked the idea of giving his daughter a pleasant surprise. He had been extremely busy, because the enrolment in his Faculty had increased markedly that term, and he had hardly exchanged a word with his daughter for weeks. He felt that he really must now talk to her about her marriage, though his sister, he was sure, would already have discussed everything with her. He opened his study door, and called, ‘Daughter, come here.’

‘Well,’ he greeted her, as she entered a little apprehensively. ‘This is a happy day for us, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, father,’ she answered submissively, masking a tumult of anxiety in her heart.

Aunt shuffled in behind her and sank on to the couch.

Dean Mehta sat down in his desk chair and took his daughter’s hand. ‘Well, now, are we quite happy at the idea of leaving our old father and going to a fine, young husband?’

Anasuyabehn did not know how to reply, and raised her heavily kohled eyes to her father.

Finally she said, ‘I don’t want to leave you, father – but I know it is time I was married.’

‘Good, good. You won’t be going far from me, anyway.’

He contemplated his daughter benignly. A placid, obedient girl, educated and yet without the flighty ideas of some of the women students on the campus. He beamed at her with satisfaction, while she waited with as much patience as she could muster. Then she said, in reply to his remark, ‘That will be nice, father.’ After all, Tilak would probably remain for years at this university.

Dean Mehta dug his key chain out of his pocket and selected a key, which he handed to his sister, while he nodded his bald head in amiable agreement.

‘Get the parcels out of the cupboard,’ he instructed her, and Aunt creaked to her feet to do so. Anasuyabehn watched her with pleasant anticipation, willing to go along with their desire to tease her gently.

‘The Desais have sent some beautiful gifts,’ said her father, as he watched his sister bring out a number of bundles.

‘The Desais?’ Anasuyabehn looked at him with blank incomprehension.

Dean Mehta glanced quickly at her, startled by the surprise in her voice. She was looking at him as if she had suddenly discovered a corpse.

‘Yes – Mahadev,’ he said.

Anasuyabehn sank into the visitor’s chair by her father’s desk, dazed by the shock. Far away, she could hear her father’s voice, but the only word she really heard was Mahadev. She was so aghast that it seemed to her that she never would take breath again; however, her aunt evidently turned the fan towards her, because she felt the breeze on her face. Gradually, the world took shape again. Out of the mist loomed her father’s face, full of anxiety, and his voice boomed into her ears.

‘Dear child,’ he said, full of self-reproach. ‘I kept you standing too long on this hot day. Let Aunt give you some water.’

Aunt had already poured a glassful from his carafe, and she held it to the girl’s lips. For once, the old woman could not think of anything to say.

Anasuyabehn sipped obediently, and life flooded furiously back into her. All her aunt’s gossip of the previous few weeks came back to her and fell neatly into place.

‘Marry a moneylender?’ she gasped scornfully. ‘Oh, no, father. No!’ The last word came out in a wail.

Dean Mehta looked at her in some astonishment.

‘He’s hardly a moneylender, child. He’s a big financier. Desai Sahib and his associates put up no less than half the money for the new chemical works at Baroda. Anyway, I thought you wanted to marry Mahadev.’

‘Why should I think of marrying him?’ Anasuyabehn asked, through angry tears.

‘Your aunt assured me that you wanted to.’

‘When I spoke of him,’ interposed her aunt hastily, ‘you agreed what a nice family they were. You made no criticism whatever.’

‘I never thought of marrying one of them,’ retorted the girl. She dabbed her eyes with the end of her sari.

Dean Mehta looked at his sister, and demanded sharply, ‘What’ve you been doing? Didn’t you ask her?’ He seemed suddenly fierce.

Aunt looked uncomfortable. Her mouth opened and shut, as she searched for a reply. She had not expected serious opposition from Anasuyabehn, once her father was committed to the match. She thought the girl would accept fairly contentedly the prospect of such a fine, rich bridegroom.

Anasuyabehn’s faintness had passed and she glared at the old woman, whose white widow’s sari served only to remind her of the troubles of early widowhood, the likely result if one married a man much older than oneself. Only a lifetime of training stopped her from screaming with rage at her aunt.

Aunt mustered her forces. She said indignantly, ‘I’ve talked of little else for weeks. I told her all about the family and about the return of their eldest son. I was sure she understood.’

‘Marriage never occurred to me,’ Anasuyabehn defended herself, through gritted teeth. ‘They’re not the same caste. I just thought you were telling me the news – gossiping!’ The last word came out loaded with rage.

‘Sister!’ Dean Mehta’s voice was full of reproach. ‘Now we are committed. You stupid woman!’ Mentally he reviled himself for leaving so important a matter to her.

‘It’s a good match,’ said Aunt defensively. ‘Mahadev could marry anyone he chooses round these parts – and he chose Anasuyabehn.’

‘ Chose me?’ exclaimed Anasuyabehn. Since she had never even spoken to Mahadev she had assumed that his father was arranging the marriage.

‘Yes,’ replied Aunt quickly. ‘He’s admired you for years. However, you were betrothed. But now he finds you are free, and dearly wants to marry you.’

‘Oh,’ said Anasuyabehn, surprise for a moment overcoming her anger.

The Dean, thoroughly exasperated by his sister, nevertheless saw his chance, and said to his bewildered daughter, who was agitatedly running her fingers through her hair, ‘My daughter, your aunt is right. It is a good match in these troubled times.’ He pursed his lips, and then went on, ‘Certainly she should have talked it over thoroughly with you – I regret not asking you myself, but I’ve had so much on my mind lately – however, here we are committed to it, and before we do anything more, I want you to consider it carefully.’

Anasuyabehn looked at him helplessly. She felt, as her father pressed Mahadev’s suit, that her last Court of Appeal was being closed to her, and she sat like a silent ghost while her father extolled Mahadev’s virtues. When he produced an exquisite sari which had been brought, as a token of the engagement, by one of the ladies concerned in the negotiations, she sat with it half opened in her lap, and hardly heard his voice.

‘Child, it was sad that your betrothed should die – I know you liked him. And, unfortunately, it made you look a little unlucky in the eyes of parents …’ He tailed off.