Raja Rao - Collected Stories

‘Lakshmana,’ Nanjundayya shouted out again.

‘Yes, your esteemed Highness!’

‘Two coffees,’ he said, when Lakshmana arrived. ‘But wait a moment, Ramu, what more will you have?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Now, don’t play the woman! Come, tell me.’

‘Well, then I will have a dosè.’

‘I say, Lakshmana. Two coffees, warm, very warm, mind you. And two dosès .’

‘Yes, Your Highness!’ Lakshmana was amused at Nanjundayya’s generosity.

‘Now,’ said Nanjundayya, turning to Ramu, ‘look here, my son. Eat as much as you like. When one has a guest like you, even a miser will turn the Generous Cow. And especially when one knows that you have to cook your own food. I know, my dear Ramu, cooking one’s food for oneself makes the very rice and soup worse than manger-munch. I know it, poor boy!’ How Ramu hated him. He wanted pity from nobody. The wretch! The old owl! But how did he know about Ramu’s cooking his own food? If only he could catch the rascal who had revealed it. . Well. . But he smiled. He could not betray his thoughts.

Meanwhile Lakshmana brought the dosè and coffee. These little boys moved hither and thither like fairies; and they brought you things before you had winked your eyes a dozen times. Swallowing a big morsel of dosè , Nanjundayya continued.

‘There is nothing like having a home, my son. Especially for one like you who has lived in such comfort.’ (‘Have I?’ thought Ramu.) ‘You are so soft and quiet. Yes, my son, you need a home. And after all why not marry?’ He smiled confusedly. ‘I am sure you have already thought of it. And in these days which boy of your age would not have thought of it? Well, Ramu?’ Ramu was silent, Still the same tormenting question! Why the devil talk of it all the time? Stop it, old fellow! and leave me to myself! Please.

‘Anyway, tell me, my son. How old are you? Why, what a silly fool I am! Don’t I know it? I know your horoscope as I know my own! You were born under Jupiter, on the eleventh day of Asvin, in the year Bhova. So,’ he counted on his trained fingers, ‘you are nineteen years, four months and three days old.’ How the devil did he know all this? Who could have told him? Perhaps he remembers it? Or. .

‘At nineteen, my son, you must begin to think of marriage. And. .’

‘No, I have not thought of it. Nor shall I think of it. At least not for a few years.’ He was decisive. He felt happy to have made that decision. He needed such forced moments to make up his mind about things. And once made, he held to them stubbornly, irrevocably.

Nanjundayya went grey as a plantain flower. But he knew his trade much too well to lose hope. When he had tackled hundreds and hundreds of ‘modern young men’ of Bangalore, yes, of Bangalore, what did a country-kid like Ramu mean to him? Patience! And he would win the game.

‘I know all these sophisticated tricks, Ramu!’ He looked greatly amused. ‘I know them as I know myself. It is the same old story all over again. You say to us, in front of us, that you do not want to marry, and secretly you wish you could get a rich man’s daughter. Well, well, my son, don’t count me for a peasant. In this very Bangalore — this home of modernism — I have spent these three-and-thirty years. No, you must be plain. It is no use trying to hide your feelings. How will you hide them when you have a little wife by you, and a rich father-in-law shining only in your light?. . And then, you rascal, you will still tell me you don’t want to marry, you little monkey?’

‘I assure you, I don’t want to marry.’ Ramu was grave. He looked determined.

‘You need not marry now, my son. Nobody forces you to.’ Nanjundayya changed his tactics. He suddenly became serious and deep-voiced. ‘No, I do not want to force you to do anything. . But, you see. . I mean, you see. . I have placed all my hopes in you. . Your father, Ramu, was such a great friend of mine that I loved him as though he were my brother. And, though I have a son, he is not one in whom the hopes of a decrepit, dying old man like me can be placed. So you see, my son, I would like to see you a big man, a rich man, and married to the daughter of a man of money and distinction.’ He seemed almost to plead, to beg. Ramu was moved. How very affectionate, he thought. ‘Ramu, if I could ask the gods a boon, it would be to give me a son brilliant, sincere, loving like you. Of what use are all the herd of children I have — puling, shrieking, jealous, indifferent children! They eat all I can give them, and always want more, more. They are always hungry and always weep, crying they haven’t all the clothes they need. And yet, old as I am, I have to slave for them from dawn to midnight, to earn so that these brats, these vagabonds, may have enough to grow fat on! Oh, to earn for one like you, Ramu my son, it would dispense one of Benares!’ Nanjundayya had tears in his eyes. He would have sobbed like a woman were he not in a Coffee House. What would Ramu say to please him, to comfort him? He looked so pitiful, wretched. Ramu smiled with sympathy and respect. Nanjundayya’s face grew more lively and his eyes beamed forth confidence and hope. Yes, the game was not lost.

‘Ramu,’ he continued, pressing Ramu’s arms with gratitude, ‘Ramu, I cannot tell you how I. . love you. O, how happy I would be to see you one day an Assistant Commissioner with a dozen servants and half a dozen clerks. Yes, Ramu, I would weep with joy. I would be happier still to find you with a beautiful wife, sweet, tender and obedient, clothed in a Dharmawar sari and adorned with diamond earrings, sapphire and ruby necklaces, and a half- seer gold belt to complete it all. If I were you, my son, I would marry now, this very moment, so that I should have a home to live in while in Bangalore, and a wife ready to live with when you will be an Assistant Commissioner in four or five years’ time. I would, if I were you!’ He smiled almost ecstatically. Ramu thought: After all, perhaps the old man is right. Old men are always so full of ripe wisdom. . Why not marry? Sofas. . Hot coffee. . Electric light. . But. . if the future should turn out to be dark and treacherous! To live a life of misery. . Jayalakshmi was right.

‘I would have married if I were you,’ continued Nanjundayya. ‘Listen to the words of an old man. My son, there’s nothing like timely marriage. To marry at nineteen, to have nuptials at twenty-one, and to have a child at twenty-two or twenty-three, that is the ideal, the ancient, infallible ideal. Nothing like it. Listen, Ramu, suppose you begin thinking of it. And I assure you, for the sweet memory of your esteemed father, I would do anything to get you a suitable father-in-law. You have only to say yes, and you will see in ten days’ time everything will be settled. I do not say this to flatter myself. But I must tell you that there are few families in Bangalore that I do not know, and in all of them I am treated with consideration and love. And at this very moment I know of at least fifteen mothers who would fall at your feet and call you their god and offer their daughters in marriage to you. Well, Ramu, my son? What do you think of it?’ Would he accept? Should he? To be married to a rich man’s daughter? But no. He had to be patient. He had to think over it. For the moment the best thing would be to refuse.

‘No,’ he said softly, respectfully, ‘no, not for the moment. I am going home in a few days, and when I am back I shall have decided one way or the other. In any case, for the present let me say no.’ Home! He was sure never to speak about it to anybody. But why did Jayalakshmi come into his mind suddenly? Surely he was not going to ask her opinion of it. Her brilliant, mocking smile came back with cruel precision. Why did she stick to him? He had never cared for her. He had never asked her to be friends with him. No! No! The sooner he decided to drop her the better. These modern girls are so dangerous. But something in him revolted and affirmed itself with terrible softness. A luminous feeling filled his being. Warmth. . peace. . harmony. . Jayalakshmi.