Chapter 8-

A VIEW OF THE BEACH

THE date had been fixed earlier, in consultation with the family astrologers, an auspicious date that could not be changed. And yet perhaps it was an almost inescapable coincidence. Sundari and Gopal were going on their honeymoon on the same day that Debi-dayal's ship sailed from Calcutta.

The wedding itself had been a quiet affair, even quieter than Sundari's father had intended, for not one of Gopal's numerous relatives had shown up for the ceremony or cared to send messages or presents.

Sundari felt miserable. She herself was going on her honey- moon; her brother was on his way to the Andamans. She had to remind herself that this was a time for joy and excitement, but it was difficult to drag her thoughts away from Debi.

The car was new, the luggage was new, the landscape was unfamiliar, and the man sitting beside her, concentrating on the driving, was almost a stranger. Everything was strange, unfamiliar, because everything belonged to someone else-even she herself now belonged to that someone else. Only the dog, now curled up in its blanket on the back seat, was her own. It had come to her because its owner, Debi-dayal, had gone to prison. Debi was due for release in 1952. The dog, Spindle, was already five years old. He would certainly not be alive in 1952.

Spindle would not be alive now, she reflected, but for Debi. Its mother had belonged to Mr. Muller, who owned the ice factory and the pig farm. Both Sundari and Debi had hopped on their bicycles and gone to see the puppies on the very day they were born. Mr. Muller was on the verandah behind the pig-sty where the puppies were kept in a tea chest lined with straw. He was weighing each puppy in his hands and feeling their bodies and examining their heads and feet. One of the sweepers was cleaning the stone floor with a brush.

Make the water really hot,' Mr. Muller was telling the sweeper as they went in. 'Otherwise the little beasts keep swimming for a long time.' 'Are you going to give them a bath, Mr. Muller?' Sundari asked.

"Bath! No, dear. I am having one of them drowned. I am trying to decide which one."

You mean you want to kill one of the puppies?" Debi had asked.

It is no good keeping all of them; one has to think of their mother. She can't feed more than three. It is a small breed, the dachshund.'

Sundari had avoided looking at her brother, knowing how shocked he must be. It was important not to give Mr. Muller the impression that they were squeamish about this sort of thing. Mr. Muller was a German, known to be contemptuous of the

numerous weaknesses of the Indian character. Which one would you select for destroying?" Mr. Muller asked Sundari.

"They all look so small-so small and so pretty. Can't you keep them all?" she asked.

"We can't keep more than three; she has given birth to four,' Mr. Muller said blandly. Sundari swallowed desperately. "The poor little things,' she

managed to say. "It is the kindest thing, really,' Mr. Muller explained. "They die quite quickly when the water is really hot; only one has to hold them down for a minute or so. Otherwise they swim and take a long time to die."

Sundari felt her body shiver. She glanced at Debi. His face had gone pale, and he looked as though he wanted to be sick. Oh, please, please God, don't let him be sick here, Sundari prayed, not in front of Mr. Muller. The sweeper came in with a large bucket full of steaming water.

I think this one,' Mr. Muller pronounced, holding up one of the puppies. "Though there is little to choose between them.'

Yes, Sundari heard herself saying. I think so too.' Mr.

Muller turned the puppy in his hands to determine its sex and its mother came up and began to lick its body. Come on, let's go,' Sundari said to Debi. "Thank you, Mr. Muller,' she remembered to say.

"Oh, are you going?" Mr. Muller asked, raising his big red face. You needn't go. It doesn't take more than a couple of minutes.' He handed the puppy to the sweeper. 'Or are you afraid?" Mr. Muller asked, very casually.

"Of course I am not afraid," Sundari had said, suddenly stung.

"All right, we will stay on and watch, if you don't mind." No, I don't mind, Mr. Muller told her. 'I don't mind. What about your brother?"

'Oh, come on Sundar, let's go,' Debi had implored. 'It is getting late." "No, let your sister stay if she wants to,' Mr. Muller said, looking at them in turn. "Perhaps she would like to hold the little thing down in the water.' He felt the water with a finger. 'No, not too hot," he pronounced. Just right. I know that a German girl would not mind."

'Give me the puppy,' Sundari said, putting out her hands. 'I don't think I shall mind, either.'

"Oh, stop being a show-off, Sundar!" Debi pleaded. 'Please let's go away."

You go if you want to,' Sundari told Debi. "I shall follow you in a few minutes. Just as soon as this is over."

I shall never speak to you again-never!' Debi had spluttered.

Then he had turned to Mr. Muller. You horrible German butcher! You killed and ate French children in the war-everyone knows that. You are mean and cruel and disgusting!-and when you lost the war the British should have killed all of you, every single one of you-monsters!' he screamed, shaking his fists. Then he had turned and fled.

For a long time, Mr. Muller had sat speechless, his face redder than ever. And then Sundari had said: "I am sorry, Mr. Muller. I hope you will forgive my brother. He did not know what he was saying."

'He should have been you,' Mr. Muller said. "And you: should have been him." 

Shall we drown the puppy, now, Mr. Muller?' Sundari had asked. "The water must be getting cold.'

Mr. Muller shook his head. 'No, we will not drown the puppy,' he said. 'We will rear it, and then when it is six weeks old, we will give it to your brother."

'Oh, thank you, Mr. Muller! Thank you. I am sure he will be so pleased...and I shall make him apologise..."

Tell him it is a present from the horrible German butcher," Mr. Muller had said. "A monster l'

That was how Spindle had come to them, five years ago, and even though he was regarded as Debi's dog, it had fallen to Sundari to look after him.

It had always been so, Sundari remembered, ever since they were small; she was always doing things for him, taking the blame for him. But then in all honesty, that was something she herself had loved to do, and at times she had wondered if there was not something a little unnatural in her fondness for her brother.

For instance he had a habit, whenever he woke up during the night, of pretending that he saw ghosts in their nursery, and would not go to sleep until Sundari got into his bed. But then, if there had been anything sexual in their relationship, she would have found herself resenting his growing independence, she told herself. Instead, as soon as the initial shock of discovering that he had become a revolutionary had subsided, she had felt a surge of pride at his having surmounted his childhood weaknesses and become manly and brave. Now it was difficult to think of him as someone who saw ghosts in the shadows or shrank from handling grasshoppers and snails and little tadpoles as a child. Now he would not feel sick at the thought of a little puppy being drowned, nor come begging to her to remove an ant-hill on their badminton court.

The badminton court was still there, even though it was rarely used now. The mali had gone on marking the lines on it, every week, just out of habit. But when they were at school, they both used to play quite regularly. She remembered it was winter, because Debi wore a fair-isle sweater, torn at the elbows, and was on tenterhooks because she had asked two of the girls from the convent to come and spend the day with them. Debi had come into her room, still looking sleepy but already dressed in white shorts, a shirt and canvas shoes.

Sundar, there is an ant-hill on the court,' he had complained.

'An ant-hill?"

Yes, and the Stanley sisters are coming...

"Oh, God!' She had never cared for the Stanley girls. 'Break it down, then."

But we can't. You see, it is their house. They built it, they are living in it.'

Yes, but they have no business to build their house right in the middle of our lawn. Go and ask one of the malis to break it down."

There is no one about today, it's Sunday."

"Well, then, there is nothing to be done about it."

"Oh, please, Sundar, don't be mean,' he had pleaded.

"You're always wanting me to do your dirty work,' she had protested. But she had got out of bed all the same, and gone out with him. It was cool on the lawn, which had been watered the previous evening, and sure enough, between the white lines on the far side of the court, was the ant-hill. It was almost nine inches high, with the mud still soft and wet-looking.

'Can't we cannot we just let them be?' Debi had asked. 'It is only in the lobby, and we need not play doubles... Oh, what are you doing, Sundar! How can you!-the poor little mites!'

She had kicked at the ant-hill in sudden anger, anger at her brother's weakness of mind. He had no business to go on like that. He must learn to be tough, learn to be a man.

The little tower of soft earth had toppled over, like an over- turned toy castle, and the ants came scurrying out of hundreds of little holes and passageways. And she had gone on kicking, razing their township to the ground and then stamping on the ruins with both feet and crushing all the little white ants.

"Oh, how could you, Sundar! How could you!' Debi had yelled at her, his face tense and drawn. Then why don't you do it yourself!' she had snapped at him, 'or get your Stanley girls to do it for you!' She had turned and fled into the house, unable to tell him that it was not the ants but he, her little brother, whom she had always wanted to grow strong and manly, that had made her stamp on the ants or had it also something to do with the Stanley sisters?

Sundari was still thinking about Debi when they reached their destination, a small forest bungalow beyond Mahabaleswar. The keeper of the bungalow was waiting for them with garlands. Did they always have garlands ready or had he somehow discovered that they were a honeymoon couple?-Sundari asked herself. Was it as obvious as that?

She tried to shake off her despondency, to step into the part of a newly married wife. But she did not feel excited or happy or eager, as a bride was supposed to, nor did she even look attractive, she told herself as she was undressing her face had become puffy and looked smudged with tears.

Gopal had every right to feel disappointed with her, she thought as she bathed her face in cold water. How could he understand what Debi had meant to her; how could she prepare her mind for the delights of their honeymoon... beautify herself to receive this strange man who had now become her husband, when Debi's ship was heading for the Andamans?

Gopal was sitting on the verandah, nervously smoking cigar- ettes. Below him, the great Konya gorge was bathed in moonlight. He heard her shut the bathroom door and get into bed. He waited for a few seconds, then threw away his cigarette and went into the bedroom. She looked flushed and nervous, and gave him an eager smile. But as his fingers touched her body, she shrank away from him, and two large tears slid out of her eyes. Then she began to sob.

He had tried to comfort her, to kiss away her tears, but he felt clumsy and unwanted. Her thoughts were obviously far away, and her body remained cold and unresponsive.

He had left her bed and gone for a walk round the bungalow. Afterwards, he sat on the verandah again, drinking whisky. When much later, he crawled back into her room, she was fast asleep, and Spindle had come charging at him, barking furiously.

He slapped the dog in anger, slapped it hard enough to make it squeal, and she awakened from her sleep and screamed at him: 'How dare you, you brute!' She took the dog into her arms and turned her back on him. Quietly, he slunk out of the room and returned to the bottle of whisky. 

That first night set the pattern of their honeymoon. It rankled in their minds; something grotesque and unseemly that would stay with them all their lives. And he rebelled against it more than she. His terrorist brother-in-law had already cut him off from the other branches of his own family and caused him considerable social embarrassment; now his shadow was coming between him and his bride, preventing them from getting to know each other as man and wife.

How dare you touch him!-you brute!' she had screamed at him on their first night together.

They both tried to make adjustments, and she offered to have Spindle tied up on the verandah, but things did not improve.. The purely physical process of defloration proved messy and was accompanied by a good deal of pain. The very next night Sundari managed to run a temperature, and he had to ring for a doctor. The fever lasted three days. During the last week, although the fever had gone, she looked wan and withdrawn, but she had not denied herself to him. Indeed, even in her fever she had shown a readiness to surrender to his passion. It was only when they were about to leave that he came to realize that on her part, it was like a game of let's pretend, good manners taking the place of sexual appetite; that she was forcing herself to play the part of the happy, eager bride, trying to make out that she was enjoying what, in fact, she found painful and abhorrent. Even in the grip of desire, her passionless surrender vaguely reminded him of гаре. They returned to Bombay at the end of August, when the rains were still at their heaviest. In the car, driving back, she was much more cheerful, and together they made plans for settling their house. He was unreasonably cheered when she said, 'Darling, don't let's go out too much for the first few days."

"We will just pretend that we have not come back,' he said laughing. But I mean it,' she insisted. 'I know I really behaved disgracefully badly in Mahabaleswar. Now I want to make it up." He patted her affectionately. 'Oh, we don't have to go out unless we want to, Luckily, we are far enough away from the town not to be disturbed." But they were disturbed, that very first afternoon. They were having tea and she was just about to go to her room to see to the unpacking, when the telephone rang." Actually we've only just arrived we haven't even unpacked,' she heard Gopal say. He put his hand on the mouth-piece. 'Malini,' he told Sundari, and then he was talking into the telephone again.

What!... well, no; it is not raining at this very moment, but there are a lot of fat grey clouds about, and the breeze is quite cold... what? Of course, I am not trying to put you off. What an idea! Indeed he is most welcome. Do...of course!"

He turned to her with a sheepish grin. "That was Malini-yes, she was at the wedding. She says that she and her Prince want to come for a swim."

"Ohl' Sundari frowned. 'Now?"

"I can't bear the Prince... actually I thought he'd dropped her, but...he shrugged his shoulders. 'I couldn't very well tell her not to come. We... we know each other too well for that.' "Oh, no, you couldn't." She was still in her room, unpacking, when Malini turned up, too quickly to have driven out all the way from town. 'Darling!

How wonderful to see you back in civilization,' she heard her say.

"You're looking wonderful-even though you shouldn't be."

Squatting on the floor in front of her open bags, Sundari had winced at the 'darling' and then, as the meaning of her remark had become clear, had found herself flushing. She had heard that 'darling' used by an actress did not necessarily imply an advanced degree of intimacy, but she found herself resenting Malini's air of familiarity, even possessiveness.

She quickly ran a comb through her hair and went into the sitting room. And there was Malini wearing eye-shadow and crimson patches on her cheeks. In her pearl-pink sari and black choli, she looked smart and sleek and ready for a party. 'Oh, please keep your dog away,' she pleaded, shaking her shoulder in a gesture of revulsion, I can't bear dogs-least of all these German sausages."

Sundari carried Spindle back to the bedroom and put him on her bed. When she came back, she asked Malini if she would like some tea. 

"No, thank you, dear,' Malini said. 'I never drink the stuff, as Gopal knows. I have asked Baldev to bring me a whisky-he knows just how I like it.'

Baldev was Gopal's bearer. Sundari still did not know the names of all the servants, and found herself resenting Malini's speaking of them with such familiarity. She felt dowdy and ill at ease, with the dust of the road still in her hair, her sari crumpled. "Where is His Highness?' Gopal asked.

"Oh, poor Princy got involved in a game of poker, just at the last minute. So I thought I'd come by myself, so as not to disappoint you even though, I must say, you didn't sound at all thrilled over the phone."

'Oh, no; we were delighted,' Gopal protested.

'Don't tell me you are going to cut out all your old friends just because you're married,' Malini said. Of course not, only I rather got the impression that it was the Prince who wanted to drop in for a dip.'

Poor Princy, Malini said again. 'Getting into his poker game just when I had persuaded him to come swimming. Come on, let's go in before the sun goes down-ah, thank you, Baldev," she beamed at the bearer who had brought her drink. Looks wonderful. Aren't any of you joining me in this?"

Yes, I think I will,' Gopal said. 'Give me one too, please, Baldev. Sundari hardly touches the stuff. 'Oh, my God! Don't tell me she is one of those not a disciple of Morarji... "Oh, nol' Sundari protested. 'I do take a sherry now and then, or a gimlet, and of course I don't mind others drinking.'

" What about the swim? Malini asked.

Gopal looked at his wife. "Would you like to?"

I have so much to do,' Sundari told him. 'Besides, I don't feel all that well.' 'Poor dear,' Malini said pityingly. 'How tired you look. The first honeymoon is always like that, they say. I wouldn't know, of course, being the bachelor girl.' Sundari laughed politely even though she found the joke a little coarse, and she still felt a little out of place in her own house. 

"I was dying for Princy to see my new costume,' Malini was saying. 'Came all the way from Hollywood. A two-piece in what they call a stunning red-and my tan too. Don't tell anyone, but it is an all-over tan. Now I will only have unappreciative you to see it,' she said to Gopal. I mean the costume-not the all-over tan.'

Hardly unappreciative,' Gopal assured her. 'Please come and sit on the beach even if you are not feeling like a bathe,' he said to Sundari.

"Why trouble the poor thing if she is not feeling well?" Malini pouted. "You are not looking at all well, my dear,' she said to Sundari. Just look at your eyes-and what have you done to your poor hair? And don't tell me you are one of those tiresome women who can't bear to let their husbands out of their sight, are you? No, of course, not. Tell me, where can I slip into my costume?"

The costume consisted of two wisps of satiny cloth, and it showed Malini off to perfection. She really had a stunning figure, Sundari conceded as she watched them walking towards the palms; and she carried herself well too, as so few Indian women do. And then for the first time, through the annoyance she had been feeling about Malini's intrusion on their day, she experi- enced a sudden prick of jealousy.

She saw him offer his hand to help her over the stile in the fence, and noticed that he did not let go her arm as they walked through the coconut grove beyond the fence, all the way to where the sand began, at least three hundred yards from the house. She saw them leave their chaplis and towels at the edge of the beach and walk over the strip of sand towards the dark-blue waves, the red and blue of their costumes closer and closer with the distance. They waded into waist-deep water and then dived together, head-first, into an enormous roller. Did their bodies mingle together in the waves? Sundari asked herself, remembering the look in Malini's eyes, her rippling, belly-dancer's body with its overall tan shrieking for attention, the heavy, pointed breasts barely restrained by the outrageous strip of satin. Was it already enveloping that other body, clean and firm and youthful contaminating something that was hers?

She shook her head and tried to laugh at herself even though her eyes were brimming with tears. The sun was just poised to go down as she left the window.

She left the suitcases as they were and gave herself a hot bath. She felt much better as she dressed, even ready to laugh at her absurd jealousy. She daubed some cologne over her hands and made up her face and put on one of her pale Chanderi saris.

It was nearly dark by the time she finished dressing, but they had not returned. She thought she would utilize the time by putting Gopal's things away. His dressing room was on the other side of the bedroom from hers. It was full of built-in shelves and cupboards with his shoes and suits and shirts and hats all neatly arranged in their respective shelves. In a cupboard in one corner were his hunting clothes, and on a shelf next to it, his guns and boxes of ammunition and cleaning rods. He was a man's man, her husband, Sundari told herself, fond of the outdoors, he rode and shot and swam... they were certainly away a long time swimming, she thought; and this time, the feeling of jealousy came with a rush, making her face feel hot.

In the top shelf of the cupboard where the boxes of ammunition were kept, she noticed a pair of binoculars and a short, chunky telescope mounted on a swivel stand. Now she felt angry and purposeful, suddenly rebellious at her own weakness; it was the sort of feeling that had come over her when she had offered to drown the puppy in Mr. Muller's backyard, offered to hold it down in the water, alive and struggling, until it stopped struggling. She picked up the telescope and carried it to the glazed verandah opening out of the sitting room, its windows overlooking the sea. She put it down on the window-sill, noticing its heaviness and unwieldiness only after she had put it securely down. She bent down and began to scan the beach with its eye-piece. For a long time, she did not see them. The telescope was powerful, but it was highly selective, being designed to spot small targets during range practice and to ascertain where the bullets were hitting. It only offered a glimpse of a small, round segment of the landscape at a time. And then she saw them, her eye caught by the minute red splotch in the water. They were just coming out of the water. She saw Malini pull him towards her, and as he turned, bend his head down and kiss him on the mouth. They stood like that for a long time, in knee-deep water, until a wave came and engulfed them. Then she saw them again, and this time his arms were around her and their bodies were pressed tightly together.

Sundari stood glued to the telescope, following their move- ments, keeping them imprisoned in the circle of glass. She lost sight of them as they walked up to where their towels had been left and it was some time before she was able to locate them again. And then she realized why she had failed to find them easily. They were not wearing their costumes now. In the last few seconds of the summer twilight, she saw them under the palms, far beyond the fence, the slim brown body obscuring the vulgar white, the male and the female mingling together.

Or was she imagining it all, was it some peculiar phantasy of a mind distorted by jealousy? For now there was no light left at all, except the soft white light of the moon which fell from directly above. The ground was covered with dark splotches and all she could see were the lacy tops of the trees under which she had seen them. She got up and went to her bedroom and lay back in bed, thinking, trying to piece together the relationship that appeared to exist between her husband and Malini.

Sundari was still in bed, with Spindle curled up beside her, when they came back. She heard their footsteps coming up the stairs, and then her husband was calling: 'Aren't you ready yet, Sundari P

I'm just dying for a drink, aren't you?" Malini was saying. 'A drink and then a shower,' and she gave a girlish squeal.

Through the open door of the passage that led from their bedroom to the sitting room, she could hear them talking, and then she heard her husband's footsteps in the passage and Spindle began to bark. 'Oh, stop that damned row, Gopal said, half in anger, half playfully. "What are you doing, all in the dark here?" he asked Sundari,

I was not feeling very well and must have dropped off to sleep,' she forced herself to say. 'Oh, no, please don't put on the light!"

"What a pity!' he said. 'Shall I send you a drink or something?" 'No, I just want to lie down."'

'It is not...not anything serious, is it? Have you got fever?' 

'Oh, no; I just want to rest; that's all.'

'Shall I ring for a doctor?"

No. I'll be perfectly all right in the morning."

He paused in the doorway for a few seconds, and then went out, his chaplis making little squeaky sounds in the uncarpeted passage. For a time, there was silence in the sitting room, unless they were talking in undertones. Then she heard him exclaim:

What on earth is the telescope doing there!... oh, my God!"

"The spying little bitch!" Malini hissed.

Sundari sat up in bed, her skin tingling. She had forgotten to put away the telescope, and there it lay, telling them the full story. Now that it had been discovered, she could not have wished it otherwise. She wanted them to look through the instrument; she hoped that the palm-trees under which they had been lying were still visible in the moonlight. She could have chortled with laughter at the little bit of luck that had come her way. If she had put away the telescope, they would never have known; somehow that would have been like admitting defeat from a woman like Malini. It was unthinkable.

Savouring her triumph, she soon fell asleep. She fell asleep even though it had struck her that their marriage was as good as broken. Oddly enough, it seemed unimportant. It was almost as though she wanted it so, that she wanted whatever had happened to have happened exactly as it did, so that when the break came, it could be clean and without pain.

For the first time since her wedding day, she fell asleep without thinking of Debi-dayal. She never knew what time Malini left their house that night, or if she had stayed there all night. Now, somehow, it did not matter.

"I am not going to let that slut come barging in here again,' Gopal said to her next morning. She gave him a long look and a smile, but said nothing. I mean it,' he protested. 'I am just going to tell her point blank." "Oh, but we mustn't stop seeing your old friends just because you are married,' she assured him.

He was disturbed by her lightheartedness. It did not tie up with her sullenness of the previous night, with the telescope
placed neatly on the window-sill, aimed accurately at the clump of trees under which they had been lying. What had she seen?

'Malini is not exactly a friend of mine,' he told her. 'What were you doing with the spotting-scope?" he asked, trying to sound casual. Why, I was trying to locate you, of course,' she explained.

'I couldn't see a thing."

He was relieved by her casual tone; it was just his imagination, then. 'Not if you try to see through it in the dark,' he said. "Yes, it was so dark when I thought of it; and then it is such an unwieldy thing. One doesn't know where to look." "There is a knack to it,' he told her. Then he added. 'And all the time I have been thinking that you couldn't stand the sight of her."

"Who?

'Malini. I thought you were really put out when she came. she is a little overpowering, I suppose, at first sight, a professional dancer... movie actress too, of sorts...

He stopped. For the first time that morning, Sundari was looking directly into his eyes, and now there was no smile on her face. 'Let us get this straight since it is important to get such things straight,' she said in a cold, very flat voice. To be honest, I did think she was a little coarse, but beyond that I did not think anything about her. She is just someone one feels sorry for, but that is all; like... like someone out of Yama the Pit suddenly walking into our drawing room... one can only be polite and feel a little sorry for her. It is hardly fair to judge such people by conventional standards-like or dislike them for what they say or do.'

He was conscious of her sudden sense of power over him.

"I didn't know you were so snooty," he said. I was not being snooty,' she said in the same, even tone. "I was just trying to set things straight between us-put everything in its proper perspective."