My activities suddenly multiplied. The Union function was the start. Rocketlike, she soared. Her name became public property. It was not necessary for me to elaborate or introduce her to the public now. The very idea would be laughed at. I became known because I went about with her, not the other way round. She became known because she had the genius in her, and the public had to take notice of it. I am able to speak soberly about it nowonly now. At that time I was puffed up with the thought of how I had made her. I am now disposed to think that even Marco could not have suppressed her permanently; sometime she was bound to break out and make her way. Dont be misled by my present show of humility; at the time there was no limit to my self-congratulation. When I watched her in a large hall with a thousand eyes focused on her, I had no doubt that people were telling themselves and each other, There he is, the man but for whom And I imagined all this adulation lapping around my ears like wavelets. In every show I took, as a matter of right, the middle sofa in the first row. I gave it out that that was my seat wherever I might go, and unless I sat there Nalini would be unable to perform. She needed my inspiring presence. I shook my head discreetly; sometimes I lightly tapped my fingers together in timing. When I met her eyes, I smiled familiarly at her on the stage. Sometimes I signaled her a message with my eyes and fingers, suggesting a modification or a criticism of her performance. I liked the way the president of the occasion sat next to me, and leaned over to say something to me. They all liked to be seen talking to me. They felt almost as gratified as if they spoke to Nalini herself. I shook my head, laughed with restraint, and said something in reply; leaving the watching audience at our back to guess the import of our exchanges, although actually it was never anything more than, The hall seems to have filled.
I threw a glance back to the farthest corner of the hall, as if to judge the crowd, and said, Yes, its full, and swiftly turned round, since dignity required that I look ahead. No show started until I nodded to the man peeping from the wings, and then the curtain went up. I never gave the signal until I satisfied myself that everything was set. I inquired about the lighting, microphone arrangements, and looked about as if I were calculating the velocity of the air, the strength of the ceiling, and as if I wondered if the pillars would support the roof under the circumstances. By all this I created a tenseness which helped Nalinis career. When they satisfied all the conditions a performance began, the organizers felt they had achieved a difficult object. Of course, they paid for the dance, and the public was there, after paying for their seats, but all the same I gave the inescapable impression that I was conferring on them a favor by permitting the dance. I was a strict man. When I thought that the program had gone on long enough I looked at the watch on my wrist and gave a slight nod of the head, and Nalini would understand that she must end the show with the next item. If anyone made further suggestions, I simply laughed them off. Sometimes slips of paper traveled down from the back of the hall, with requests for this item or that, but I frowned so much when a slip was brought near me that people became nervous to pass on such things. They generally apologized. I dont know. Someone from the back benchit just came to me I took it with a frown, read it with bored tolerance, and pushed it away over the arm of the sofa; it fell on the carpet, into oblivion. I made it look as if such tricks should be addressed to lesser beings and that they would not work here.
One minute before the curtain came down, I looked for the Secretary and nodded to him to come over. I asked him, Is the car ready? Please have it at the other door, away from the crowd. Id like to take her out quietly. It was a false statement. I really liked to parade her through the gaping crowds. After the show, there were still people hanging around to catch a glimpse of the star. I walked ahead of her or beside her without much concern. At the end of the performance they presented her with a large garland of flowers, and they gave me one too. I accepted mine with protest. There is really no reason why you should waste money on a garland for me, I said; I slung it carelessly on my arm or in the thick of the crowd dramatically handed it over to Nalini with, Well, you really deserve two, and made her carry it for me.
It was a world of showmanship till we reached the privacy of our house, when she would throw off the restraint and formality of hours and give me a passionate hug with, Even if I have seven rebirths I wont be able to repay my debt to you. I swelled with pride when I heard her, and accepted it all as my literal due. Methodically she started wrapping the flowers in a wet towel so that they might remain fresh in the morning.
On program days she cooked our supper in the afternoon. We could easily have afforded to engage a cook, but she always said, After all, for two people, we dont need a cook moping around the house. I must not lose touch with my womanly duties. She spoke of the evening show all through dinner, criticizing some arrangement or the background accompaniment, how so and so just failed to catch up. She lived entirely in the memory of her evening show. Sometimes after food she demonstrated a piece. And then she picked up a book and read on till we went to bed.
In a few months I had to move out of my old house. The Sait managed to score a point of law and secured an attachment of the property before judgment. My lawyer came to me and said, Dont worry about it; it only means he will have to pay the house tax, with arrears, if any. Of course, your mothers signature may be required too, but Ill get it. It is just like mortgaging the house to him. You may have to give him renta nominal one if you stay here.
Paying rent for my own house! I said. If I have to pay rent I prefer a better house. For our growing stature the house was inadequate. No visitor could be entertained. No privacy. No place for any furniture. My father had designed this house for a shopkeeper, not for a man of consequence and status who had charge of a growing celebrity. Moreover, where is the place for you to practice in? I asked Nalini when she demurred at the notion of moving out. Somehow she was deeply attached to the house, the place which first gave her asylum.
The lawyer went to the village and returned with my mothers signature on the document. How did she take it? I could not help asking.
Not badly, not badly, said the adjournment expert. Well, of course, we cannot expect elderly people to take the same view as we do. I had to argue and persuade her, though your uncle proved a difficult man.
Four days later my mothers letter came; she had written on a yellow paper with a pencil:... I gave my signature not because I was happy about it but because otherwise the lawyer would not go from here, and your uncle would not let him stay in peace. It is all confusing to me. Im sick of everything. I signed without your uncles knowledge, when he was away in the garden, so that the lawyer might leave this place without any damage to his person. Anyway, what does it all mean? Your lawyer mentioned that you are looking for a new house for that woman. If it is so, Ill come back to live in my old house. After all, I wish to spend the rest of my days in my own house. It was good of my mother to have set aside her own anger and written to me. I felt touched by her solicitude. I was troubled by her desire to come back. I could understand it, but I resisted the idea. It seemed best to let the Sait take the home and be done with it once for all. Who wanted this ramshackle house anyway? To have Mother live in the house, I should have to pay a rent to the Sait. Who would look after her? I was so busy. I rationalized in all possible ways and put away her letter without a reply. I moved to another house and became very busy, and in all the rush quietened my conscience. I felt sorry, but I rationalized: After all her brother is dear to her, and he will look after her. Why should she come here and live all alone?
The stylish house at New Extension was more in keeping with our status. It was two-storied, with a large compound, lawns, garden, and garage. On the upper floor we had our bedrooms and a large hall where Nalini practiced her dances. It was carpeted with a thick deep blue spun-silk carpet at one end, leaving a space of marble tiles for her to dance on. I had managed to fix up a pedestal and a bronze image of dancing Nataraja in one corner. It was her office. I had now a permanent group of musiciansfive of them, a flautist, a drummer, etc. She had a dance-master whom I discovered in Koppal, a man who had steeped himself in the traditional dance for half a century and lived in his village home. I ferreted him out and brought him over to Malgudi and gave him an outhouse in our compound to live in. All kinds of people were always passing in and out of our house. I had a large staff of servantsa driver for our car, two gardeners for the garden, a Gurkha sentry at the gate with a dagger at his waist, and two cooks because our entertainments were beginning to grow. As I have said, a miscellaneous population was always passing in and out of the compound: musicians, their friends, those who came to see me by appointment; the servants, their friends, and so on. On the ground floor I had an office with a secretary-in-waiting, a young graduate from the local college, who dealt with my correspondence.
I had three or four grades of visitors. Some I received on the veranda; these were musicians or aspiring musicians who wanted a chance to accompany Nalini. I was offhand with them. About ten such asked for an interview with me every day. They were always waiting on the outer veranda to have a chance to speak to me. I went in and out, hardly noticing them. They respectfully rose at the sight of me and saluted, and if they intercepted me I kept up a show of giving them a hearing, and then said, Leave your address with my clerk there. If there is anything that can be done, Ill ask him to call you up. When they flourished a batch of testimonials I snatched a brief look at them and said, Good, good. But there is nothing I can do now. Leave your name in the officeand I passed on. My outer veranda was cluttered with benches on which people sat and waited all day to have a chance to speak to me. I treated them with the scantiest attention. I left them to guess when I would come to my table. Sometimes obscure composers turned up with new songs especially created for Nalinis benefit. Sometimes when I sat at the office table I did not mind if they peeped in and took their chance to speak to me. I never offered this class of visitor a chair, but did not mind if he pulled one up and sat down. When I wanted to dispose of him, I pushed my chair back and went in abruptly, leaving it to my secretary to see him off. Sometimes I observed how big a crowd waited for me outside, through the glass window in the hall, and I made a strategic exit through a side door, straight on to the garage, and from there dashed to the gate, while the visitors looked on helplessly. I felt vastly superior to everyone.
Apart from those that came as supplicants, there were others who approached me with genuine offers of engagement. They were the higher grade of visitors. I received them on the hall sofa and rang the bell for coffee. I offered my inner circle of visitors coffee day and night. Our coffee bill alone amounted to three hundred a month, enough to maintain a middle-class family in comfort. The appointments in the hall were all expensivebrass inlaid trays, ivory knickknacks, group photographs with Nalini in the middle. Sitting in that hall and looking round, I had the satisfaction of feeling that I had arrived.
Where was Nalini in all this? Away out of sight. She spent a great part of the day in her rehearsal hall with her musicians. One could hear the stamping of feet and the jingle of anklets on the upper floor. After all, she was living the life she had visualized. Visitors had always a hope that they might get a glimpse of her passing in or out of the house. I knew what they were looking for, with their shifty looks darting at the inner doorway. But I took care to see that no one saw her. I had a monopoly of her and nobody had anything to do with her. If anyone ventured to ask for her I said, She is busy, or No need to trouble her. You have told me; that is enough. I resented anyones wanting to make a direct approach to her. She was my property. This idea was beginning to take root in my mind.
There were, however, a few friends of the inner circle whom I took upstairs to her room. It was a very eclectic group. They had to be my intimates; I had had no friends at all formerly; my friendship was now sought after by others. I was on back-slapping terms with two judges, four eminent politicians of the district whose ward could bring ten thousand votes at any moment for any cause, and two big textile-mill owners, a banker, a municipal councilor, and the editor of The Truth, a weekly, in which an appreciation of Nalini appeared from time to time. These men could come into my hall without appointment, demand coffee, and ask loudly, Where is Nalini? Upstairs? Well, I think Ill see her for a moment and go. They could go up, talk to her, order coffee, and stay on as long as they pleased. They addressed me as Raj, familiarly. I liked to hobnob with them because they were men of money or influence.
Apart from them, sometimes musicians or actors or other dancers called on Nalini and spent hours and hours with her. Nalini enjoyed their company immensely, and I often saw them in her hall, some lying on carpets, some sitting up, all talking and laughing, while coffee and food were being carried to them. I occasionally went up and chatted with themalways with a feeling that I was an interloper in that artistic group. Sometimes it irritated me to see them all so happy and abandoned. I signaled to Nalini to come over to the bedroom, as if for a big, important aside, and when she closed the door I whispered, How long are they going to stay?
Why?
They have been here the whole day and may go on till night
Well, I like their company. Its good of them to visit us.
Oh, as if we had no one else to visit us.
Its all right. How can I tell them to go? And it makes me happy to be with them.
Surely; Im not denying it. But remember, you have to rest and we have a train journey ahead. You will have to pack up, and also practice. Remember you have promised new items for the Trichy show.
Thats easy to manage! she said, turning round and going back to her friends, shutting the door on me. I silently fretted. I liked her to be happybut only in my company. This group of miscellaneous art folk I didnt quite approve. They talked too much shop and Nalini was likely to tell them all our business secrets. She never missed a chance to get a gathering of such friends, wherever she might be. She said, They are people with the blessing of Goddess Saraswathi on them, and they are good people. I like to talk to them.
You dont know the worldtheyll be a jealous lot. Dont you know that real artists never come together? These people come to you because they are your inferiors.
Im tired of all talk of superior and inferior. What is so superior about us? she asked in real indignation.
Well, you know, you have more engagements than a hundred of them put together, I said.
Thats more money, she said. I dont care much for that sort of superiority.
Gradually arguments began to crop up between us, and that, I said, put the final husband-wife touch on our relationship. Her circle was widening. Artists of the first and second rank, music teachers, dilettantes of the town, schoolgirls who wanted ideas for their school functions, all kinds of people asked to see her. Wherever possible I turned them back, but if they managed to slip through and get upstairs, I could do nothing about it. Nalini kept them for hours and would hardly let them go back.
We had calls from hundreds of miles away. Our trunks were always packed and ready. Sometimes when we left Malgudi we did not return home for nearly a fortnight. Our engagements took us to all corners of South India, with Cape Comorin at one end and the border of Bombay at the other, and from coast to coast. I kept a map and a calendar and tried to plan out our engagements. I studied the invitations and suggested alternative dates, so that a single journey might combine several engagements. Arranging an itinerary for each period took up a lot of my energy. We were out of town for about twenty days in the month, and during the ten days we were in Malgudi we had one or two dates nearer home, and whatever was left over could be counted as rest. It was a strenuous program, and, wherever I might be, my secretary kept me informed of the mail arriving each day and received instructions by phone. I was committed three months ahead. I had a large calendar on which I marked in red the dates of engagements, and hung it up at first in her rehearsal hall, but she protested, Its ugly. Take it away!
I want you to keep an idea before you of where you are going next.
Not necessary, she cried. What am I going to do, looking at those dates? She rolled it up and put it in my hand. Dont show it to me. It only frightens me to see so many engagements, she said. When I told her to get ready for the train, she got ready; when I asked her to come down, she came down; she got in and out of trains at my bidding. I dont know if she ever noticed what town we were in or what sabha or under whose auspices a show was being held. It was all the same, I think, whether it was Madras City or Madura, or a remote hill town like Ootacamund. Where there was no railway, a car came to fetch us from the railhead. Someone met us at the platform, led us to a limousine waiting outside, and drove us to a hotel or a bungalow. Our circus of accompanying musicians was taken away in a bunch and berthed comfortably somewhere. I kept this lot in good humor by fussing about their comfort. They are our accompanists. I hope you have made proper arrangements for them too.
Yes, yes, sir. Weve reserved two large rooms for them.
You must send them a car later to bring them over to our place. I always made it a point to collect them and keep them handy two hours ahead of a show. They were a timeless lot, those instrumental players; they slept, or went shopping, or sat around playing cardsnever looking at a clock. Handling them was an artthey had to be kept in good humor; otherwise they could ruin a whole evening and blame it on mood or fate. I paid them well. I kept up a show of looking after them, but I kept aloof. I was careful to see that they assumed no familiarity with Nalini.
If the show was at six, I generally insisted upon Nalinis resting until four oclock in the afternoon. If we were guests in a house, she generally liked to sit around with the womenfolk and chat endlessly with them. But I went up to her and said with a good deal of firm kindness, I think you had better rest a while; the train journey last night was not very comfortable, and she finished the sentence she was uttering or hearing and came up to our guest room.
She felt annoyed at my interference. Why should you come and pull me out of company? Am I a baby? I expostulated with her that it was for her own good that I did so. I knew it was only a partial truth. If I examined my heart I knew I had pulled her out because I did not like to see her enjoy other peoples company. I liked to keep her in a citadel.
If there was a train to catch after the show, I managed to have a car waiting ready to take us to the station. I had food brought to us on the train in silver or stainless-steel vessels, and we had our supper in the privacy of our compartment. But it was a brief, short-lived relief, as it soon began all over again, getting down at another station, going through another performance, and off again. When we visited places of importance, she sometimes asked to be taken to see a famous temple or a shop or some local sight. I always replied, Yes, yes. Let us see if we can fit it in, but it was never done, as I always had to catch another train so as to fulfill another engagement. We were going through a set of mechanical actions day in and day outthe same receptions at the station, fussy organizers, encounters, and warnings, the same middle sofa in the first row, speeches and remarks and smiles, polite conversation, garlands and flash photos, congratulations, and off to catch the trainpocketing the most important thing, the check. Gradually I began to say, not I am going to Trichy for a performance by Nalini, but I am performing at Trichy on Sunday, on Monday I have a program... and then, I can dance in your place only on... I demanded the highest fee, and got it, of anyone in India. I treated those that came to ask for a show as supplicants, I had an enormous monthly income, I spent an enormous amount on servants and style, and I paid an enormous amount of income tax. Yet I found Nalini accepting it all with a touch of resignation rather than bouncing contentment. She had seemed such a happy creature in our old house, even when my uncle was bullying her.
Nalini cherished every garland that she got at the end of a performance. Usually she cut it up, sprinkled water on it, and preserved it carefully, even when we were in a train. She said, holding up a piece of garland and sniffing the air for its fragrance, To me this is the only worthwhile part of our whole activity.
We were in a train when she said it. I asked her, What makes you say so?
I love jasmine.
Not the check that comes with it?
What is one to do with so much? All day long and all through the week you are collecting checks, and more and more often. But when is the time coming when we can enjoy the use of those checks?
Well, you have a big household, a big car and whatnotis that not enjoyment of life?
I dont know, she said, remaining moody. How I wish I could go into a crowd, walk about, take a seat in the auditorium, and start out for an evening without having to make up or dress for the stage!
Some dangerous weariness seemed to be coming over her. I thought it best not to prod too much. Perhaps she wanted fewer engagements, but that was not possible. I asked, You are not saying that your legs are aching, are you?
It had the desired effect. It pricked her pride and she said, Certainly not. I can dance for several hours at each show. Only you want me to stop.
Yes, yes; true, I cried. Otherwise you would be fatiguing yourself.
Not only that; you also want to catch the trainthough what will be lost if we catch the next days, I dont know
I didnt allow her to finish her sentence. I called her flatteringly a shrewd girl, laughed and enjoyed it as a joke, fondled her, and made her forget the subject. I thought it was a dangerous line of thought. It seemed absurd that we should earn less than the maximum we could manage. My philosophy was that while it lasted the maximum money had to be squeezed out. We needed all the money in the world. If I were less prosperous, who would care for me? Where would be the smiles which greeted me now wherever I turned, and the respectful agreement shown to my remarks when I said something to the man in the next chair? It filled me with dread that I should be expected to do with less. If we dont work and earn when the time is good, we commit a sin. When we have a bad time no one will help us. I was planning big investments as soon as possibleas soon as we could count on a little more margin. As it was, the style of living and entertaining which I had evolved was eating up all our resources.
Sometimes she said, Spending two thousand a month on just two of us. Is there no way of living more simply?
Leave that to me; we spend two thousand because we have to. We have to maintain our status. After a good deal of thought, I ran the bank account in her name. I didnt want my creditors to get at me again. My adjournment lawyer was proceeding at his own pace, sometimes coming to me for a signature or funds, and managing things without bothering me. Nalini signed any check I asked her to sign. One thing I must add: whenever I was in town I gathered a big circle of friends and we played cards practically twenty-four hours at a stretch. I had set apart a room for the purpose and I had two personal servants serving tea and coffee and even food on the spot; and we had surreptitious drinks too, although there was prohibition in forcewell, the prohibition law was not for a man of my influence. I had managed to get a medical certificate to say that I needed alcohol for my welfare. Although I myself cared very little for drink, I hugged a glass of whisky for hours. Permit-holder became a social title in our land and attracted men of importance around me, because the permit was a difficult thing to acquire. I showed respect for law by keeping the street window shut when serving drink to non-permit folk. All kinds of men called me Raj and slapped my back. We played Three-Cards sometimes for two days at a stretch; I changed a two-thousand-rupee check for the purpose, and expected those who came there to meet me on equal terms. Through my intimacy with all sorts of people, I knew what was going on behind the scenes in the government, at the market, at Delhi, on the race-course, and who was going to be who in the coming week. I could get a train reservation at a moments notice, relieve a man summoned to jury work, reinstate a dismissed official, get a vote for a cooperative election, nominate a committee man, get a man employed, get a boy admitted to a school, and get an unpopular official shifted elsewhere, all of which seemed to me important social services, an influence worth buying at the current market price.
In the glow of this radiant existence, I had practically overlooked the fact that Marco still existed. We hardly mentioned his name. I never took note of the fact that he still inhabited the globe, and I took the only precaution neededI avoided any engagement near his house. I didnt want to run the risk of facing him again. I had no idea what Nalini had in mind. I believed she still felt embittered at the thought of him, and would rather not be reminded of him. I supposed that all associations with him were dim, fossilized, or had ceased to exist. I also thought that under her name Nalini she was safely out of range, but I was mistaken. We played for a whole week at Malgudi. The post one day brought us a book. Generally I received a miscellaneous collection of mailcatalogues, programs, verse, and whatnot, all of which was seen and disposed of by my secretary. Some Tamil and English illustrated journals meant for Nalini were sent up. I hardly looked at anything except letters offering engagements, and certainly never at books and journals. I was a man of many preoccupations, and I found it impossible nowadays to sit down with any book and had instructed my secretary not to bother me with them. But one day he brought a packet, saying, Would you look at this, sir. I thought it might be of special interest.
He held the book open. I snatched it from him. It was a book by Marco, a book full of illustrations and comments. See page 158 read a penciled message. I turned it over, and there it was, the heading Mempi Cave Pictures. At the head of the chapter was a brief line to say, The author is obliged to acknowledge his debt to Sri. Raju of Malgudi Railway Station for his help. The book was from a firm of publishers in Bombay, with their compliments, sent by instructions of the author. It was a gorgeous book costing twenty rupees, full of art plates, a monograph on The Cultural History of South India. It was probably an eminent work on the subject, but beyond me.
I told the secretary, Ill keep it. Its all right. I turned the pages. Why did the boy bring it up as a special matter? Did he know who was who? Or? I dismissed the idea. It must have been because he was rather taken by the blue and gold of the binding and the richness of the material. He must have feared that if he didnt draw my attention to it, I might probably demand an explanation. That was all. So I said, Thank you, Ill read it. And then I sat wondering what I should do about it. Should I take it upstairs to Nalini or? I told myself, Why should she be bothered with this? After all, it is a piece of academic work, which has bored her sufficiently. I turned it over again, to see if there was any letter enclosed. No. It was impersonal, like the electricity bill. I turned to page 158 and reread his note. It was thrilling to see my name in print. But why did he do it? I lost myself in speculating on his motives. Was it just to keep his word because he had promised, or could it be to show that hed not forgotten me so lightly? Anyway, I thought it would be best to put the book away. I carried it to my most secret, guarded place in the housethe liquor chest, adjoining the cardroom, the key of which I carried next to my heartstuffed the volume out of sight, and locked it up. Nalini never went near it. I did not mention the book to her. After all, I told myself, What has she to do with it? The book is sent to me, and the acknowledgment is of my services. But it was like hiding a corpse. Ive come to the conclusion that nothing in this world can be hidden or suppressed. All such attempts are like holding an umbrella to conceal the sun.
Three days later Marcos photograph appeared in the Illustrated Weekly of Bombay, on the middle page. The Illustrated Weekly was one of the papers Nalini always readit was full of wedding pictures, stories, and essays she enjoyed. The photograph was published along with a review of his book, which was called An epoch-making discovery in Indian cultural history. I was looking through my accounts in the hall, free from all visitors. I heard footsteps clattering down in a great run. I turned and saw her coming with the magazine in her hand, all excitement. She thrust the page before me and asked, Did you see that?
I showed appropriate surprise and told her, Calm yourself. Sit down.
This is really great. He worked for it all his life. I wonder what the book is like!
Oh, its academic. We wont understand it. For those who care for such things, it must seem interesting.
I want so much to see the book! Cant we get it somewhere? She suddenly called my secretary, an unprecedented act on her part. Mani, she said and held the picture up to him, you must get me this book.
He came nearer, read the passage, brooded for a moment, looked at me, and said, All right, madam.
I hurriedly told him, Hurry up with that letter, and go in person to the post office and remember to add a late fee. He was gone. She still sat there. Unless she was called to meet visitors, she never came downstairs. What was this agitation that made her do these unusual things? I wondered for a moment whether I ought not to bring the book out to her. But she would ask me for so many explanations. I simply suppressed the whole thing. She returned upstairs to her room. I noticed later that she had cut out the photo of her husband and placed it on her dressing mirror. I was rather shocked. I wanted to treat it as a joke, but could not find the right words, and so left it alone. I only averted my eyes when I passed the dressing mirror.
It was a long week in town; otherwise we should have been fully occupied in moving about, and probably would have missed that particular issue of the Illustrated Weekly. On the third day, while we were in bed, the very first question she asked me was, Where have you kept the book?
Who told you about it?
Why bother? I know it has come to you. I want to see it.
All right, Ill show it to you tomorrow. Evidently Mani must be responsible. I had made it a convention in our establishment that my secretary should have no direct access to her, but the system was breaking down. I decided to punish him properly for his lapse.
She sat reclining on her pillow with a journal in her hand, to all appearances reading, but actually preparing herself for a fight. She pretended to read for a moment and suddenly asked, Why did you want to hide it from me?
I was not ready for this, and so I said, Cant we discuss it all tomorrow? Now Im too sleepy.
She was out for a fight. She said, You can tell me in a word why you did it and go to sleep immediately.
I didnt know it would interest you.
Why not? After all
You have told me that you never thought his work interesting.
Even now Ill probably be bored. But anything happening to him is bound to interest me. Im pleased he has made a name now, although I dont know what it is all about.
You suddenly fancy yourself interested in him, thats all. But the book came to me, not to you, remember.
Is that sufficient reason why it should be hidden from me?
I can do what I please with my own book, I suppose? Thats all. Im going to sleep. If you are not reading, but are merely going to think, you can as well do it in the dark, and put out the light.
I dont know why I spoke so recklessly. The light was put out, but I found that she was sitting upand crying in the dark. I wondered for a second whether I should apologize and comfort her. But I decided otherwise. She had been bottling up a lot of gloom lately, it seemed to me. It would do her good to have it all out without my interference. I turned over and pretended to sleep. Half an hour passed. I switched on the light, and there she was, quietly crying still.
What has come over you?
After all, after all, he is my husband.
Very well. Nothing has happened to make you cry. You should feel pleased with his reputation.
I am, she said.
Then stop crying and go to sleep.
Why does it irritate you when I speak of him?
I realized it was no use trying to sleep. I might as well meet the challenge. I replied, Do you ask why? Dont you remember when and how he left you?
I do, and I deserved nothing less. Any other husband would have throttled me then and there. He tolerated my company for nearly a month, even after knowing what I had done.
You talk about a single incident in two different ways. I dont know which one I should take.
I dont know. I may be mistaken in my own judgment of him. After all, he had been kind to me.
He wouldnt even touch you.
Should you taunt me with that? she asked with sudden submissiveness. I couldnt understand her. I had an appalling thought that for months and months I had eaten, slept, and lived with her without in the least understanding her mind. What were her moods? Was she sane or insane? Was she a liar? Did she bring all these charges against her husband at our first meeting just to seduce me? Would she be leveling various charges against me now that she seemed to be tiring of meeven to the extent of saying that I was a moron and an imbecile? I felt bewildered and unhappy. I didnt understand her sudden affection for her husband. What was this sudden mood that was coming over her? I did my best for her. Her career was at its height. What was it that still troubled her? Could I get at it and find a remedy? I had been taking too much for granted in our hectic professional existence.
We must go on a holiday somewhere, I said.
Where? she asked in a businesslike manner.
I was taken aback. Where? Anywhere! Somewhere.
We are always going somewhere. What difference is it going to make?
Well go and enjoy ourselves, on our own, without any engagement.
I dont think its going to be possible until I fall sick or break my thighbone, she said and giggled viciously. Do you know the bulls yoked to an oil-crusherthey keep going round and round and round, in a circle, without a beginning or an end?
I sat up and told her, Well go as soon as the present acceptances are finished.
In three months?
Yes. After they are finished well pause for a little breath. She looked so unconvinced of this that I said, Well, if you dont like an engagement, you can always say no.
To whom?
Why, of course, to me.
Yes, if you would tell me before you accept and take an advance.
There was something seriously wrong with her. I went over to her bed, sat on it, shook her by the shoulder a little just to make it look personal, and asked, What is the matter with you? Are you not happy?
No. Im not happy. What will you do about it?
I threw up my arms. I really could not say anything. Well, if you tell me what is wrong, I can help. As far as I can see, there is nothing for you to be sorry aboutyou are famous, you have made money, you do what you like. You wanted to dance; you have done it.
Till the thought of it makes me sick, she added. I feel like one of those parrots in a cage taken around village fairs, or a performing monkey, as he used to say
I laughed. I thought the best solvent would be laughter rather than words. Words have a knack of breeding more words, whereas laughter, a deafening, roaring laughter, has a knack of swallowing everything up. I worked myself into a paroxysm of laughter. She could not remain morose very long in the face of it. Presently she caught the contagion, a smirk developed into a chuckle, and before she knew what was what her body rocked with laughter, all her gloom and misgivings exploded in laughter. We went to sleep in a happy frame of mind. The time was two hours past midnight.
Our life fell into a routine after this little disturbance. After a break of only three days, during which time I steeped myself in the card game, avoiding all discussions with her, our encounters were casual and slight. She was passing through a period of moodiness, and it was safest to keep out of her way and not to rouse her further. The engagements for the next three months were all-important, running, as they did, into the season of music and dance in South India, for which I had taken heavy advance payments. We had ahead of us a travel program of nearly two thousand miles, from Malgudi back to Malgudi, and if we went through with it there was ample time for her to get over the mood, and then I could push her into another quarter-year of activity. I had no intention of slackening this program. It seemed so unnecessary, so suicidal. My only technique was to keep her in good humor to the best of my ability from quarter to quarter.
We were getting through our engagements uneventfully. We were back in Malgudi. Mani was away for a couple of days, and I was attending personally to an accumulation of correspondence on my table. Offers of engagements I piled up on one side. I had some misgivings about accepting any of them right away as I normally would. I felt I should do well to speak to her before replying. Of course shed have to accept them, but I wanted to give her a feeling of being consulted. I sorted them out.
Suddenly I came upon a letter addressed to Rosie, alias Nalini. It had on it the address of a lawyers firm in Madras. I wondered what to do with it for a while. She was upstairs, probably reading one of her inexhaustible journals. I felt nervous about opening the letter. I had half an impulse to take it to hera sensible part of me said, It must, after all, be her business. She is an adult, with her own affairs. Let her tackle it, whatever it may be. But this was only fleeting wisdom. The letter had arrived by registered post some days ago and Mani had received it and kept it on the table. It had a big seal on its flap. I looked at it with misgiving for a while, told myself that I was not to be frightened by a seal, and just cut it open. I knew she would not mind my seeing her letters. The letter came from a lawyer and said, Madam, under instruction from our client, we are enclosing an application for your signature, for the release of a box of jewelry left in safe custody at the Bank of, in the marked place. After this is received we shall proceed to obtain the other signature as well, since you are aware that the deposit is in your joint names, and obtain the release of the said box, and arrange to forward it to you under insurace cover in due course.
I was delighted. So this was going to bring in more jewelry for her? Of course she would be elated. But how big was the box? What were the contents worth? These were questions that agitated my mind for a while. I looked through the letter for some clue; but the lawyer was sparing of words. I took the letter and turned to go and give it to her. But on the staircase I paused. I returned to my room and sat in my chair, thinking. Well, let me think it over. Where is the hurry? I asked myself. She has waited for this box so long. Just a couple of days more is not going to matter. Anyway, she never mentioned it, perhaps she doesnt care. I took the letter to my liquor casket and locked it up. A good thing Mani was not there. Otherwise he might have created a mess.
I had some visitors after this. I talked to them and went out in the evening to see a few friends. I tried to distract my mind in various ways, but the packet bothered me. I returned home late. I avoided going upstairs. I heard her jingles upstairs, and knew that she was practicing. I returned to my office table with the letter from the liquor chest. I opened it carefully and read it again. I looked at the enclosed application. It was on a printed form; after her signature was going to be Marcos. What was the mans purpose in sending it now? Why this sudden generosity to return her an old box? Was he laying a trap for her, or what was it? Knowing the man as I did, I concluded that it might not be anything more than a correct disposal of his affairs, similar to his acknowledgment of my help in his book. He was capable of cold, machinelike rectitude; his vouchers were in order; he saw probably no sense in being responsible for Rosies box any more. Rightly, too. The right place for Rosies box was here. But how to release it? If Rosie saw this letter she would do God knew what. I had a fear that she would not view it calmly, in a businesslike manner. She would in all likelihood lose her head completely. She was likely to place the wildest interpretation on it and cry out, See how noble he is! and make herself miserable and spoil for a fight with me. There was no knowing what would set off the trigger nowadays. His mere photo in the Illustrated Weekly drove her crazyafter that book incident I was very careful. I never showed her the book at all.
Next day I waited for her to ask for it, but she never mentioned it again. I thought itd be safest to leave it there. I was very careful. I kept her in good humor and engaged, that was all; but I was aware that some sort of awkwardness had developed between us, and I kept myself aloof with extreme care. I knew that if I allowed more time she would be all right. But I felt that to show her this letter would be suicidal. She might refuse to do anything except talk about his nobility. Or (who could say?) she might insist on taking the next train to his place, throwing up everything. But what was to be done with the letter? Just let it rest in the company of whisky bottles till it is forgotten, I told myself and laughed grimly.
During dinner, as usual, we sat side by side and spoke of things such as the weather, general politics, the price and condition of vegetables, and so on. I kept the subject rigorously to inconsequential affairs. If we held on for another day, itd be perfect. On the third day we should be on the move again, and the bustle and activity of travel would shield us from troublesome personal topics.
After dinner she sat down on the hall sofa to chew betel leaves, turned over the pages of a journal on the hall table, and then went upstairs. I felt relieved. The swing was coming back to normal. I spent a little time in my office, looking into accounts. The income-tax statement was due to be sent in a couple of weeks. I was poring over my very personal account book just to see where we stood, and how to prepare our expense accounts. After brooding over this mystic matter for a while, I went upstairs. I knew I had given her enough time either to be steeped in the pages of a book or to sleep. Anything to avoid talk. I was becoming uncertain of my own attitude nowadays. I feared I might blurt out about the letter. I laid my head on the pillow and turned over, with the formula, Ill sleep, I think. Will you switch off when you are done? She grunted some reply.
How much jewelry might be in the box? Was it his present to her or her mothers or what? What a girl! She never gave it a thought! Perhaps they were antiquated and she did not care for them. If so they might be sold now and converted into cash, and no income-tax officer would ever dream of its existence. Must be a substantial lot if it had to be kept in safe custody. But who could say? Marco was eccentric enough to do strange things. He was the sort of fellow to keep even a worthless packet at the bank, because that was the right thingtodother-r-ight thing todoI fell asleep.
Soon after midnight I awoke. She was snoring. An idea bothered me. I wanted to see if there was any time limit mentioned. Suppose I kept the letter secret and some serious consequences arose? I wanted to go down and examine the document at once. But if I got up, she would also wake up and ask questions. Or if I took no notice at all of it, what would happen? The box would continue to remain in safe custodyor the lawyer might write a reminder, which might come in when I was out and slip its way through to her, and then questions, explanations, scenes. This was proving a greater bother than I had at first thought. Nothing that that man did was ever quiet or normal. It led to unbelievable complexities. As I kept thinking of it, it magnified itself until I felt that I had dynamite in my pocket. I slept fitfully till about five oclock, and then left my bed. I lost no time in going to the liquor casket, pulling out the document, and examining it. I carefully read through the document, line by line, several times over. The lawyers said, Per return post, which seemed to my fevered mind an all-important instruction. I took it over to the office desk. I found a scrap of paper and made a careful trial of Rosies signature. I had her sign so many checks and receipts each day that I was very familiar with it. Then I carefully spread out the application form and wrote on the indicated line: Rosie, Nalini. I folded it and put it in an addressed cover which the lawyers had enclosed, sealed it, and I was the first to appear at the window when our extension branch post office opened at seven-thirty.
The postmaster said, So early! You have come yourself!
My clerk is sick. I was out for a morning walk. Please register this. I had walked down for fear that opening the garage door might wake her up.
I had no clear idea as to when or how the jewel box might arrive, but I looked for it every day. Any parcel in the post, Mani? I asked constantly. This almost threatened to become a habit. I expected it within the next two days. No signs of it. We had to go out of town for four days. Before leaving I instructed Mani, There may be an insured packet coming. Tell the postman to keep it in deposit till we are back on Tuesday. They keep such things, dont they?
Yes, sir. But if it is only a registered parcel, I can sign for you.
No, no. This is an insured parcel and it will have to be signed for by one of us. Tell the postman to bring it again on Tuesday.
Yes, sir, said Mani, and I left him abruptly; otherwise he might have started expanding on the subject.
We were back on Tuesday. The moment Rosie went upstairs I asked Mani, Did the parcel arrive?
No, sir. I waited for the postman, but there was nothing.
Did you tell him that we were expecting an insured parcel?
Yes, sir, but there was nothing.
Strange! I cried. Per return, the lawyers had written. They probably wanted the signature, that was all. Perhaps Marco planned to appropriate the box himself and had tried this ruse. But as long as that lawyers letter was with me, I could hang them; none of their tricks was going to succeed. I went to my liquor chest and reread the letter. They had committed themselves clearly. We shall arrange to dispatch, under insurance cover... If it meant nothing in a lawyers letter, where was it going to mean anything? I felt somewhat puzzled, but told myself that it would ultimately arrivebanks and lawyers offices could not be hustled; they had their own pace of work, their own slow red-tape methods. Slow-witted red-tapeistsno wonder the country was going to the dogs. I put the letter back and locked it up safely. I wished I didnt have to go to the liquor chest every time I wanted to read the letter; the servants, knowing the contents, might begin to think that I took a swill of whisky every few minutes. My desk would be the right place for the letter, but Id a suspicion that Mani might see it; if he caught me studying the letter so often, he was sure to want to take a look at it by stealing up at my back and pretending to have some question to ask. Awful cunning! He had worked for me for months and months without my noticing anything against him, but now he and everyone around appeared sinister, diabolical, and cunning.
That evening we had an engagement at Kalipet, a small town sixty miles away. The organizers were providing a van for the musicians, and a Plymouth for me and Nalini, so that we might fulfill the engagement and return home the same night. It was a benefit show for building a maternity home, and they had collected seventy thousand rupees. The price of tickets ranged from two hundred and fifty rupees in a kind of fancy scale, and officials persuaded businessmen and merchants to contribute. Businessmen ungrudgingly paid up on condition that they were given the nearest seats in the first row. They wanted to sit as near the performer as possible, with a chance of being noticed. In their thoughts, Nalini, while dancing, noted their presence and later inquired, Who were those important men in the front row? Poor creatures, they hardly knew how Nalini viewed her audience. She often remarked, They might be logs of wood for all I care. When I dance I hardly notice any face. I just see a dark well in the auditorium, thats all.
This was a very large-scale function because of official interest in it; the officials were interested because the chief man of the place, who was behind all the shows, was a minister of the state cabinet, and it had been his ambition in life to build a first-rate maternity center in this area. Knowing the circumstances, I had moderated my demand to a thousand rupees for expenses, which meant it was free of income tax. After all, I too liked to contribute to a social cause, and certainly we would not come out of it too badly anyway. But it was all the same for Nalini. Instead of traveling by train, we were going by car, that was all. She was pleased that we should be returning home the same night.
The show was held in an immense pavilion specially constructed with bamboos and coconut matting and decorated with brilliant tapestry, bunting, flowers, and colored lights. The stage itself was so beautifully designed that Nalini, who generally ignored everything except the flowers at the end, cried, What a lovely place. I feel so happy to dance here. Over a thousand people were seated in the auditorium.
She began her first movement, as usual, after a signal from me. She entered, carrying a brass lamp, with a song in praise of Ganesha, the elephant-faced god, the remover of impediments.
Two hours passed. She was doing her fifth itema snake dance, unusually enough. I liked to watch it. This item always interested me. As the musicians tuned their instruments and played the famous snake song, Nalini came gliding onto the stage. She fanned out her fingers slowly, and the yellow spotlight, playing on her white upturned palms, gave them the appearance of a cobra hood; she wore a diadem for this act, and it sparkled. Lights changed, she gradually sank to the floor, the music became slower and slower, the refrain urged the snake to dancethe snake that resided on the locks of Shiva himself, on the wrist of his spouse, Parvathi, and in the ever-radiant home of the gods in Kailas. This was a song that elevated the serpent and brought out its mystic quality; the rhythm was hypnotic. It was her masterpiece. Every inch of her body from toe to head rippled and vibrated to the rhythm of this song which lifted the cobra out of its class of an underground reptile into a creature of grace and divinity and an ornament of the gods.
The dance took forty-five minutes in all; the audience watched in rapt silence. I was captivated by it.... She rarely chose to do it indeed. She always said that a special mood was needed, and always joked that so much wriggling twisted her up too much and she could not stand upright again for days. I sat gazing as if I were seeing it for the first time. There came to my mind my mothers remark on the first day, A serpent girl! Be careful. I felt sad at the thought of my mother. How much she could have enjoyed watching this. What would she have said if she could have seen Rosie now, in her shining costume and diadem? I felt a regret at the rift that had developed between me and my mother. She occasionally wrote me a postcard, and I sent her small sums of money now and then, dashing off a few lines to say I was well. She often asked when Id get back the house for herwell, that involved a big sum and I told myself Id attend to it as soon as I had some time. Anyway, what was the hurry? She was quite happy in the village; that brother of hers looked after her very well. Somehow I could never fully forgive her for her treatment of Rosie on that fateful day. Well, we were now on cordial terms, but far away from each other, the best possible arrangement. I was watching Nalini and at the same time thinking of my mother. At this moment one of the men of the organization came up to me unobtrusively and said, You are wanted, sir.
Who wants me?
The District Superintendent of Police.
Tell him Ill be with him as soon as this act is over.
He went away. The District Superintendent! He was one of my card-playing mates. What did he want to see me about now? Of course, the officials were all here, expecting the Minister (a sofa was kept vacant for him), and extra police were posted to control the crowd and the traffic. After this act, when the curtain came down, thunderous applause broke out, and I went out. Yes, the District Superintendent was there. He was in plain dress.
Hello, Superintendent, I didnt know you were coming; you could have come with us in the car, I cried.
He plucked my sleeve and drew me aside because there were too many people watching us. We went to a lonely spot under a lamp outside, and he whispered, Im awfully sorry to say this, but Ive a warrant for your arrest. It has come from headquarters.
I smiled awkwardly, partly disbelieving him. I thought he was joking. He pulled out a paper. Yes, it was a true and good warrant for my arrest on a complaint from Marco, the charge being forgery. When I stood ruminating, the Inspector asked, Did you sign any recent document forfor the lady?
Yes; she was busy. But how can you call that forgery?
Did you write For or just write her name? He plied me with questions. Its a serious charge, he said. I hope you will pull through, but for the moment I have to take you in custody.
I realized the gravity of the situation. I whispered, Please dont create a scene now. Wait until the end of the show, and till we are back home.
Ill have to be with you in the car, and after the warrant is served you can arrange for a surety bond till the case is taken up. That will leave you free, but first Im afraid you will have to go with me to the magistrate. He has to sanction it. I have no powers.
I went back to my sofa in the hall. They brought me my garland. Somebody got up and made a speech thanking the dancer and Mr. Raju for their help in getting the collection to over seventy thousand rupees. Incidentally he spun out a lot of verbiage around the theme of the dance in India, its status, philosophy, and purpose. He went on and on. He was a much-respected president of the local high school or some such thing. There was tremendous applause at the end of his speech. More speeches followed. I felt numb, hardly hearing anything. I didnt care what they said. I didnt care whether the speech was long or short. When it was over, I went to Nalinis dressing-room. I found her changing. A number of girls were standing around her, some waiting for autographs, and some just looking on. I said to Nalini, We will have to hurry.
I went back to the Superintendent in the corridor, composing my looks, trying to look cheerful and unconcerned. A lot of the first-row men surrounded me to explain their appreciation in minute detail. She just towers above all others, someone said. I have seen dancers for a half-centuryIm the sort of man who will forgo a meal and walk twenty miles to see a dance. But never have I seen, etc., etc. This maternity home, you know, will be the first of its kind. We must have a wing named after Miss Nalini. I hope you will be able to come again. We would like to have you both for the opening ceremony. Could you give us a photograph of her?... Wed like to enlarge it and hang it in the hall.... Thatll be a source of inspiration for many others, and, who knows, in this very building may be born a genius who may follow the footsteps of your distinguished wife.
I didnt care what they said. I simply nodded and grunted till Nalini came out. I knew that the men surrounded and talked to me only in the hope of getting a close view of Nalini. As usual, she had her garland; I gave her mine. The Superintendent led the way unobtrusively to our Plymouth waiting outside. We had to walk through a crowd buzzing around us like flies. The driver held the door open.
Get in. Get in, I said impatiently to Nalini. I sat beside her. Her face was partially illuminated by a shaft of gaslight from a lamp hanging on a tree. Thick dust hung in the air, churned up by the traffic; all the vehicles, cars, bullock carts, and jutkas were leaving in a mass, with a deafening honking of horns and rattle of wheels. A few policemen stood at a discreet distance and saluted the Superintendent as our car moved away. He occupied the front seat next to the driver. I told her, Our friend, the District Superintendent, is coming back with us to the city.
It was about two hours journey. She talked for a while about the evening. I gave her some comments on her performance. I told her something of what I had heard people say about her snake dance. She said, You are never tired of it, and then lapsed into silence and drowsiness, only waiting for our destination, as our car whizzed along the country highway, past long rows of bullock carts with their jingling bells. They sound like your anklets, I whispered to her clumsily.
The moment we reached our home, she threw a smile at the Superintendent, murmured, Good night, and vanished into the house. The Superintendent said to me, Let us go now in my jeep. It was waiting at the gate.
I sent away the Plymouth. I said, I say, Superintendent, give me a little time, please. I want to tell her about it.
All right. Dont delay. We must not get into trouble.
I went up the staircase. He followed. He stood on the landing while I went into her room. She listened to me as if I were addressing a stone pillar. Even now I can recollect her bewildered, stunned expression as she tried to comprehend the situation. I thought she would break down. She often broke down on small issues, but this seemed to leave her unperturbed. She merely said, I felt all along you were not doing right things. This is karma. What can we do? She came out to the landing and asked the officer, What shall we do about it, sir? Is there no way out?
At the moment I have no discretion, madam. Its a non-bailable warrant. But perhaps tomorrow you may apply for reconsideration of bond. But we can do nothing till tomorrow, till its moved before the magistrate. He was no longer my friend, but a frightful technician.
