The Moneylenders of Shahpur Page 7

  Two silent, embarrassed men awaited her. The peon carried the clean clothes into Tilak’s office, so that the Dean could change in privacy, and then sat down cross-legged outside the door, to wait. Except for him, she was alone with Tilak for the first time.

  Although she had already met him at several parties, she felt very shy, and her eyes uneasily examined her toes peeping out of her sandals.

  Tilak cleared his throat, and after two false starts managed to say, ‘It’s nothing very serious. Dr Mehta was a little upset.’

  Anasuyabehn raised her eyes as far as Tilak’s middle shirt button, became painfully aware of the fine, muscular body showing through the sweat-soaked shirt, and despairingly raised her eyes to the thin, black face at least a foot above her own.

  ‘What upset him?’ she asked.

  The shy scrutiny to which he was being subjected was too much for poor Tilak. Unused to having many women about him, he was acutely aware of every detail of the small, plump person before him. He could not think how to reply; he was aware only of the turmoil caused in him by a pair of rather deepset eyes, carefully rimmed with kohl, looking anxiously at him. He had a frightening desire to touch her softly rounded cheek and tell her that all was well.

  He turned abruptly and took a couple of steps away from her.

  ‘I dissected a fish and a frog,’ he said.

  Anasuyabehn was shaken out of her shyness by this admission, and she asked with a faint trace of awe in her voice, ‘Did you kill them?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tilak defiantly. ‘It’s part of my work – it doesn’t hurt them.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Anasuyabehn. ‘I didn’t attend the science courses at the convent – I don’t know much about these things.’

  She lifted her sari over her head, so that her long hair, now carefully plaited, was hidden. She held the sari a little over her face, so that neither the peon nor Tilak could see her trembling lips. She again examined her toes, while the peon smoked a cigarette hidden in his palm.

  A shaken Dean emerged from the office. He accepted the support of his daughter’s arm, and they walked slowly homeward, followed by Tilak carrying the neatly bundled dirty clothes.

  She prevailed upon the Dean to rest in the big swing which hung on the veranda and brought him water and a bowl in which to cleanse his mouth, face and hands; she was grieved to see that his hands shook, as he washed himself.

  She set her little servant to preparing rotis and herself completed the making of a light lentil soup, which task she had had to leave unfinished when called to the University.

  The need to hurry with her household tasks steadied her; her heavy lower lip ceased to tremble. With quick, experienced hands, she relit the charcoal fire, selected spices and pounded them, and took out the shining brass talis ready for serving the meal, as if nothing had impinged on her quiet life with her father.

  Only after the meal was over and her father had gone to lie down for a little while, could she retire to her own room and acknowledge the tumult within her. Her aunt had spent the last few days extolling the virtues of the Desais to her. She was sick of it and was thankful to lean her tired head against the cool stone wall by her bed. The old lady had, that morning, gone to visit another elderly gossip nearby, so presumably, by now, the whole neighbourhood would know that she, Anasuyabehn, was to marry a Desai. Anasuyabehn cursed softly and fluently, as only suppressed, orthodox women the world over can curse.

  She allowed her mind to wander back over the past few weeks. Her lips curved tenderly. Her pulses pounded, as she remembered the boring tea parties through which she had sat patiently with the other women in the kitchen, in the hope of glimpsing a certain tall, soldierly figure.

  The advent of a new, high-caste bachelor on the campus had, of course, caused quite a lot of interest among the few unmarried girls in the families of the staff. They all agreed that, if he had not been so dark, he would be handsome – and he was so Western, that magical word vaguely associated with delicious licence and peculiar freedoms.

  And the wonder of today. To stand alone, quite close to him, and actually speak to him. One by one, as if they were gold, she went over the words of their little conversation. He kills animals, she reminded herself, and was shocked to discover that she did not care whether he did or not. She, who had once hotly defended a scorpion against the thwacks of a University gardener’s spade, found suddenly that anything done by Dr Tilak must be right, regardless of what the scriptures propounded.

  Her aunt returned from her visit and crawled on to the end of her niece’s bed, to sit cross-legged and reflective for a moment. Out of courtesy to the older woman, Anasuyabehn moved to get up, but with a slight gesture of one gnarled hand, she was told to remain where she was. Rheumy eyes regarded her kindly.

  ‘Your future husband is calling again in the late afternoon,’ she informed Anasuyabehn. ‘Put on your best sari – he wants to see you.’

  Cold commonsense flooded back. Who was she to dream?

  ‘Yes, Aunt,’ she replied sadly, doing her best to hide the burning resentment she felt. She knew she had no right to complain. Parents decided who one married.

  Aunt watched her, as she changed into a blouse to match her best sari. ‘In my young days,’ she said, ‘things were much more formal. But, then, this is a late marriage.’ She shifted the piece of betelnut in her mouth, and then added, ‘I am glad you’re seeing sense at last.’

  She wiped her lined face with the end of her white sari, while Anasuyabehn, feeling very helpless, got her best sari out of the cupboard and unwrapped it. The bright orange silk spoke to her of many a wedding attended in it, and her depression increased.

  ‘I ordered a basket of ladus,’ said her aunt conversationally. ‘Dadabhai will make and deliver them himself. One never knows how many people will come on these occasions, and one should have plenty to eat in the house. I bought extra vegetables last evening for pecawlis, and I was looking for the boy to prepare them. Where is he?’

  ‘At the grain shop. He won’t be long. I’ll prepare some of the vegetables now, and put on my sari later.’

  The habit of obedience to her elders was so strongly ingrained in her that her acquiescence and her offer to help to prepare the tea for her unwelcome suitor were automatic. Only much later did it occur to her that she could have refused to have anything to do with the visit.

  She was still tying her sari when she heard the carriage draw up at the compound gate. There was the sound of strange voices mingled with those of her father and her servant. She hastily brought the end of her sari forward over her bosom and tucked it into her waistband; the soft folds failed to disguise completely the generous curves of her figure, and she wished heartily that she was fat to the point of ugliness.

  She felt so afraid of the interview before her that she was tempted to shut herself in her room and refuse to come out, but Aunt came to inspect her and quickly swept her out towards the front veranda.

  ‘You look very well,’ she said approvingly. ‘That dark green blouse shows off your pale complexion. Hurry up, now. Your future husband has to catch the Delhi Mail.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Anasuyabehn, ‘I wondered why the visit was so late.’

  To her nervous fears was added more resentment. So she was being sandwiched in between business, was she? Her lips closed tightly, and it was a very distressed young woman who followed her aunt out on to the shadowed veranda.

  A woman was seated on the swing; she was very thin and her expensive, flowered sari drooped on her. Huge eyes looked insolently out at Anasuyabehn from a heavily-boned face. Her lips smiled, however, and she put the palms of her hands together in salutation.

  A small fat man in spotless white, who was seated in a basket chair near her, sprang anxiously to his feet and also saluted her. The lady immediately frowned at him and he subsided obediently back into his chair.

  Another man who had been observing her quietly from the shadows now rose and made his salute.

  Anasuyabehn
was terribly afraid and looked down at the floor as she put her palms together in greeting. Except for a crow squawking in a tree in the compound, there was complete silence; all eyes regarded her, and she knew what it must be like to be a slave on sale in a market.

  The stillness was broken by a shrill giggle from the visiting lady.

  Anasuyabehn bit her lips and slowly gained enough courage to look up at Mahadev.

  Her first thought was that he was much bigger than she had envisioned him to be. In spite of his plumpness, he had a commanding presence. Though she had no knowledge of the business world, she understood suddenly why he might be successful in his work. There was a dignity about him which spoke of a man who would not tolerate any nonsense, and his bright, intelligent eyes gave indication of the quick wits which were essential to his caste. Today, however, he had put aside his business for an hour and was looking down at her with benign approval.

  So great was her respect for male authority and her desire for male approbation, that she held down her fears and treated the moneylender like any other visitor.

  Mahadev himself was very nervous. He was anxious to make a good impression, and that bitch of a sister-in-law with her arrogant laugh was too much altogether. He scowled at her, and she retired behind her veiling sari to sulk.

  He turned back to his wife-to-be, and the scowl cleared from his face. From a distance, he had watched Anasuyabehn many times in the bazaars and on the campus, but seeing her closely he was enchanted. She had a skin like ivory and the innocent expression of a child. All sorts of ideas shot into his head. That piece of land they owned down by the river – he could build a house upon it – a house for his father, himself, his daughter and Anasuyabehn; a quiet haven by the water. And she should wear emeralds – he had some perfect stones which only needed cutting.

  Behind his impassive expression, his quick brain was already circumventing for this charming little woman the ills which she must most fear, particularly the one now sitting on the swing. After his experiences in France, he felt restless and anxious to shrug off the collar and lead of custom and try himself in the new world evolving in free India.

  Anasuyabehn looked down at the floor again, and he was disappointed. He felt that the lid of a box had closed just as he was about to discover the contents.

  ‘Let’s all sit down,’ said Mahadev, and Anasuyabehn and her aunt obediently sat down on basket chairs a little way from the Desais.

  A painful silence ensued, which was providentially broken by the arrival of another carriage. Everyone, except Anasuyabehn, whose head was swimming with fresh fears that she might not be strong enough to fight the match, got up and went to the veranda rail, while the servant danced excitedly to the gate to let the new visitors in. They proved to be a stout, middle-aged couple accompanied by two wide-eyed schoolchildren.

  ‘My respected father’s cousin-brother,’ announced Mahadev. ‘Father and Uncle were unable to come owing to business. Father mentioned it to you last time you saw him, Doctor Sahib,’ he said to Dr Mehta.

  The Dean nodded, and room was made for extra chairs brought by the servant. Everyone again sat down and stared at Anasuyabehn.

  Aunt ordered the servant to make tea, and the children cuddled close to their mother, who turned an amiable, lined face to Aunt.

  ‘It’s so hot still,’ she said. ‘It should have cooled a little by now.’

  She accepted a glass of water brought by the servant, who carried a tray as big as himself from one visitor to another until all were served, and then vanished into the kitchen.

  Aunt smiled at her, and inquired the names of the children. This launched the fond parent on the history of her offspring, their misdoings and shortcomings.

  Anasuyabehn excused herself and went to help in the kitchen. Mahadev watched her go with regret; he would have dearly liked to talk to her.

  Dean Mehta was, however, talking about making a visit to Abu during the summer and he had, perforce, to give his attention to him, while in the kitchen Anasuyabehn deep fried savouries for him and wished he would kindly fall in love with someone else.

  She was very bewildered. Her first fierce hatred of her suitor had died on seeing him; he did not strike her as the kind of man she could hate, nor did she despise him or his power. She felt like a mouse in a Gujerati cage trap; her thoughts rushed round and round and saw no way of escape. It is harder to fight an enemy one does not hate, she thought. Curse Aunt and all her machinations. ‘Oh, Tilak Sahib,’ she muttered, ‘could you not make a move to save me?’

  Why should he? asked commonsense; he doesn’t know what you feel for him.

  ‘I’ll stall as long as I can,’ thought Anasuyabehn, and then winced as the boiling fat she was using spat and burned her wrist. ‘Time might offer some escape.’

  She handed a dish of savouries to the servant to take out to the visitors, and then put a saucepan of water and milk on to the roaring Primus, for more tea.

  She was sitting on her little stool, watching the mixture, when Aunt brought the two lady visitors into the kitchen. Though she stood up respectfully, she looked surly; then the heavy eyelids were again lowered.

  The cousin-brother’s wife was startled by the resentment apparent in Anasuyabehn’s quick glance; it was unexpected, since the family had been assured that Anasuyabehn felt very honoured at the match. She sighed softly. She hoped that this new addition to the family would not cause more trouble; the thin stick of malice standing by her was a big enough trial. Mahadev should have looked in his own caste for a wife – this girl was too well educated for comfort. Mahadev’s father had, however, agreed, so the good lady extended an invitation to the sullen girl to make a formal visit to the Desai household, in company with her father and aunt.

  Anasuyabehn did not reply, so her aunt spoke for her. They would come in a week’s time. She shot a reproving look at her niece, who ignored it. They could arrange her life for her – let them get on with it. She saw no reason to give them much help. She needed time – time to draw Tilak’s attention to her. But how?

  The gentlemen could be heard pushing back their chairs to leave, so the ladies put their hands together in farewell and an unsmiling Anasuyabehn did likewise.

  The Dean saw his guests to the gate and afterwards walked slowly up and down the compound. A good, respectable family, he thought. And to think that Anasuyabehn had allowed her thoughts to stray towards that bloodthirsty horror, Tilak. The Dean shuddered as he remembered the murdered fish.

  ‘Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Dr Jain of Mathematics,’ he considered, ‘and together we can see the Vice-Chancellor. By this time even he must have heard about it.’

  Indeed, by dinner-time most of the staff was debating the matter, the story having been spread by the peon who had overheard Anasuyabehn’s and Tilak’s conversation while they waited for the Dean to change his clothes. The story had lost nothing in the telling. The younger members of the staff laughed gleefully at the Dean’s predicament. Despite persistent propaganda from the Central Government in Delhi that locusts, vermin and invading armies might be dispatched without sin, the older staff held strongly to the view that all life was sacred.

  CHAPTER TEN

  That evening the heat was still so great in John’s room that he and Tilak decided to sit on the veranda, despite the occasional gusts of wind carrying sand. John propped his front door open in hope of cooling the room a little.

  As he settled himself carefully in his basket chair, he tried to assure Tilak that he should not take Dean Mehta’s fussing over his fish and frog too seriously. ‘It may take a little time, but there are other, more worldly people on campus who’ll prevail – don’t forget that they want a medical school here one of these days.’

  Tilak thought this over and then said, ‘It isn’t the Dean’s being sick that troubles me – anybody unaccustomed to seeing meat or corpses might react in the same way. It’s his assumption that everybody thinks the same way that he does – he’s supposed to be Western educat
ed and is a university man – he should have room for other people’s ideas.’

  ‘I know, but ahimsa is pretty well embedded anywhere in India, and especially so in the Gujerat.’

  ‘If it were village people who had complained, I could understand it,’ said Tilak, twisting himself round in his creaking basket chair. ‘The village people here are Gandhiji’s own people, and their belief in ahimsa – non-killing – was reinforced by him. It would be very hard to persuade them to kill anything, under any circumstances.’

  ‘I think that’s correct,’ replied John. He remembered, again, the story Ranjit had told him about Government officials who had, a couple of years previously, tried in vain to get the local farmers to spray the locusts in their fields. They had faced starvation before they gave in, too late to save that year’s crop.

  ‘You know, Tilak, the Gujerat furnished both money and brains for Gandhiji’s cause.’

  ‘We all did,’ sniffed Tilak.

  ‘Kana,’ shrieked Ranjit from the kitchen veranda, much to John’s relief. He realized that they were both getting irritable from hunger, and he got up immediately and ushered his friend into his room.

  A cloud of moths was dancing round the lamp and in the circle of light reflected on the ceiling, so he told Ranjit to move the table into a corner where they would not be bothered by falling bodies.

  When they were seated, Ranjit went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl, a jug of water and a towel, so that they could wash their hands. Then, with a clatter of brassware, he brought in two talis laden with food, and the two friends ate ravenously in spite of the heat. Lentil soup, vegetables, fresh Indian rotis and curd vanished remarkably quickly, and Tilak looked considerably better when he finally accepted a cardamom from a carved box proffered him by John.

  John took a clove from the same box, and they tipped back their chairs and grinned quite cheerfully at each other.