The Guru of Love (29 page)

In the garden, Ramchandra tried not to think about this possibility, but his imagination took off, and he pictured himself living here as the owner. He visualized himself walking through its corridors, opening doors to take peeks at his children sleeping in their separate bedrooms. Or climbing down the stairs, his hand caressing the smooth balustrade. Or inspecting the garden on a bright spring day, giving instructions to the gardener. Or having workers install a Western-style commode bathroom on each floor of the house, which now had only a squatting-style bathroom. He saw the servants, quiet, courteous, and wearing freshly washed clothes, asking what he'd like for his evening meal.

But how would he retain the servants with his schoolteacher's salary? How would he install those expensive commodes? Even if Pandey Palace were bequeathed to Goma, and thereby to him, there wasn't any way he could maintain it. Or would Mrs. Pandey leave behind a large sum of money for Goma? That thought made Ramchandra crazy, and he muttered to himself, “Stop, stop.''

He was about to head back when he looked up and saw the outline of a figure upstairs. It was Goma. Was she looking at him? He wanted to say something to her about himself and Malati. Or about her. But the words became jumbled with other words in his mind. She was watching him, and he was watching her watch him, and when he saw himself through her perspective, he came upon a stranger. Goma, he said in his mind. What is to become of us, now that Malati is gone?

T
HE CITY CONTINUED
to explode into riots. Angry citizens taking to the streets were tear-gassed or fired on by the police. Men and women died. A student's death in Jhapa, a district bordering India to the east, infuriated college students across the country, and the campuses in Kathmandu became battlegrounds for the police and the students. Nor did Ramchandra's school remain untouched. His students, especially those in the upper grades, didn't want to study. They came to school and then left to join the demonstrations. With the image of Rachana's bloody head still vivid in his mind, Ramchandra tried to dissuade the students, but they wouldn't listen. Instead, they chastised him for not sympathizing with those who were giving their lives for freedom. One student even accused him of being a government crony, and Ramchandra said, bitterly, “Yes, you're right. I have a lot to gain by seeing that those in power remain in power. That's why I'm stuck in this miserable job, teaching you miserable students, clinging to my miserable salary.”

The student's accusation annoyed him, and he muttered to himself, “Do what you want. What do I care? I am just here to teach.” But he did worry about the students, and in bed he had nightmares about their young bodies lying in gutters as their mothers pounded on Ramchandra's door.

Most of the teachers supported the protesters, but a few came to the regime's defense. “These people want nothing but trouble,” Bandana Miss said one morning, after the older students had left to support the antigovernment demonstrators and the younger ones had gone home. Her brother occupied a high position in the tourism department. “This will lead our country nowhere.”

“You mean you don't want democracy?” Shailendra asked with a smirk.

“We need control,” Bandana Miss said. “Otherwise we'll end up like America, where people shoot each other on the streets.”

“I thought you liked America,” someone said. “Didn't you send your son there?”

For a moment Bandana Miss was stumped. Then she said, “Sending your son to America for education is one thing. Agreeing with its philosophy is another.”

“I've heard you sing praises of America,” Ramchandra said.

Bandana Miss became defensive. “That's an entirely different thing. We can't let this country fall to anarchy.”

“What's your take on this, Ramchandra-ji?” Gokul asked. “You haven't offered us your opinion.”

“I have none. Revolutions come and go. I still don't have a house of my own in this city.”

That made everyone laugh, and even Bandana Miss found a way to save face. “So true, so true, Ramchandra-ji,” she said, placing her hand on his arm.

“So, Ramchandra-ji,” Shailendra said, “you mean to say that your personal problems are more important than the country's problems?”

“My personal problems are my country's problems,” Ramchandra replied. “My history is this forsaken country's history.”

“Not to worry,” someone said. “Democracy will make us all prosperous. We'll get rid of all those corrupt politicians, and you'll be able to build a house in Kathmandu, Ramchandra-ji.”

“You mean Bandana Miss will raise our salaries? Will you, Bandana Miss?” Shailendra asked.

“Where will the money come from?”

“From Mr. Democracy. He has a vault with millions of rupees.”

That brought forth more laughter; then the bell rang in the empty school.

 

The mourning period for Mr. Pandey ended about two weeks later, and Goma and the children returned to Jaisideval. Spring, with its painted blue skies and brisk sunshine, began to adorn the streets of Kathmandu. Gone were the sweaters, the rubbing of cold palms early in the morning, the families gathered around the single heater in the house. Even though the mornings and nights were chilly, at noon the sun enveloped the city, and people mopped their brows and complained of the heat.

Soon after moving back to Jaisideval, Ramchandra got into the habit of rising early in the morning, bathing at the tap before Mr. Sharma did, and doing push-ups and breathing exercises in the bedroom. “I have to do something constructive,” he told Goma. “Otherwise my mind will go dull.” Goma nodded. “That's an excellent idea,” she said. “You'll become healthier as you age.” She was still sleeping with the children, and although Ramchandra hinted a couple of times that she might move back to her bedroom, she ignored him. She didn't mention Malati, but sometimes when they were eating, in the children's presence, she seemed to be thinking of her.

And he did feel energetic every morning after he finished the exercises and drank his first cup of tea. He would take a walk in the neighborhood, stopping briefly to chat with shopkeepers and acquaintances. In the evening, he read while the children played hide-and-seek in the courtyard or carom and cards in the bedroom. Sometimes his thoughts turned to Malati; then he became uneasy and couldn't concentrate on the book he held.

 

One day, while Sanu and Rakesh were wrestling on the floor over a brand-new pack of cards that Ramchandra had bought them, the shoulder strap of Sanu's frock slipped, and Ramchandra caught a glimpse of her breasts, now like those of a young woman. She caught his gaze and quickly covered herself up and left the room.

“San-di became naked,” Rakesh said.

Ramchandra scolded him, saying he shouldn't talk like that about his sister.

He asked Goma whether she had bought Sanu a bra.

“Yes, but she complains that it constricts her, and she can't breathe.”

“She's growing. She should wear one.” He thought of Mr. Sharma watching his daughter.

“You know how she is.”

Maybe he should talk to Sanu, but she'd probably be uncomfortable, talking about such things to her father.

During this time Ramchandra and Goma often went to Pandey Palace, because Mrs. Pandey was having health problems. Her hands swelled, and she had difficulty walking up and down the stairs. Often in the middle of a family conversation she'd become quiet, and when Goma asked her what was wrong, she said that she was lonely in the house by herself, that the walls were chasing her. She said that at night she heard the voice of her husband. She complained that someone tapped on the floor at dawn, urging her to wake up.

“Why don't you have one of the servants sleep in the house instead of the servants' quarters?” Ramchandra suggested.

“They'd rob me blind at night,” she said, and despite assurances from Goma and Ramchandra that they'd been devoted servants for years, Mrs. Pandey was adamant.

Within a few days of this discussion, Mrs. Pandey's health grew worse; it declined so rapidly that people wondered whether Mr. Pandey's soul had indeed been tapping on the floor, claiming his wife. She fainted a few times, which fueled further speculation. Mr. Pandey's sister, a stout woman with deep religious convictions, told Goma that Mr. Pandey's soul had come to her and whispered that he wasn't happy. Goma was upset by this kind of talk. “She's already paranoid,” she told her aunt. “And you want to make her more afraid?”

And then one morning they received a phone call from a servant. Mrs. Pandey had collapsed in the garden and was lying there, clutching her heart. Goma urged him to call an ambulance immediately, even though she knew it wouldn't arrive in time. Ramchandra suggested that they call Nalini, but she had accompanied Harish on a business trip to Bangkok. So Ramchandra and Goma rushed to Pandey Palace, where Mrs. Pandey was sitting in her bedroom, her face ashen. As soon as she saw Goma, she began to cry, “Don't leave me alone, please, Mother. Don't leave me alone.” Goma held her tightly, as if she were indeed Mrs. Pandey's mother.

That day all the city hospitals had declared a strike, protesting the imprisonment of some doctors and medical students. They did get her to the Teaching Hospital in Maharajgunj, where doctors were examining patients in the open air. Mrs. Pandey was asked to lie on a table, and a doctor, after examining her, said it was most likely that much of Mrs. Pandey's affliction was psychological, although there were signs that she also suffered from diabetes. “She needs to be around her family at this time,” the doctor said. “That'll take away some of the paranoia.”

Suspicious, because he thought the doctor had arrived at the diagnosis too quickly, Ramchandra said, “Maybe she needs a more thorough checkup?” But the doctor had already moved on to another patient.

Mrs. Pandey clung to Goma as they left the hospital, and when they were back in Pandey Palace, Goma told Ramchandra that they'd all have to move there.

“What are you talking about?” Ramchandra said. “I can't live here.”

“And why is that?”

“You know very well why.”

“No, I don't,” Goma said tersely. “My mother is very ill. She needs me, and you can't take care of the children by yourself. There's no point in paying rent to live in that crummy apartment while this big house is empty.”

“Goma.”

“Look,” Goma said, “this is about my mother. I made a large concession to you not long ago. Have you forgotten?”

“But you know that—”

“Fine, if that's the way you feel, then the children will live here with me, and you can live in the apartment by yourself.”

“She's not going to get better any time soon.”

“Then she won't. But I'll stay with my mother until...” And her voice broke.

He got up and held her, and she leaned against him. “Please. Don't you see? It'll help me if you're here.”

“Yes,” he said and kissed her on the lips. It was the first time since he'd confessed to her about Malati that he'd held her like this, and he embraced her until she broke away from him, saying that she had to make soup for her mother.

 

Ramchandra hoped that the one moment of physical proximity would restore their intimacy, but he was wrong. Goma maintained her distance, as if she could smell Malati on him, as if her initial reaction to his confession remained inside her, muted but strong.

Two days later they moved from Jaisideval to Pandey Palace, but not before they had a raucous fight with their landlord, who demanded that they pay a month's rent because they'd not given him advance notice. “This is not a hotel,” the landlord said. The shouting match took place in the courtyard, with the neighbors watching from their windows.

“This is an emergency situation,” Ramchandra said. “It's one thing that you never took care of the apartment while we lived here. Now the least you can do is let us go in peace.”

“What about my peace, then? How am I going to find someone on such short notice?”

“Plenty of people in this damned city are looking for shelter.”

They finally reached a compromise. The landlord would let them go if they paid half the next month's rent. The idea was Goma's, who had been sitting on the doorstep, listening to them argue.

“Only because of you am I making this concession,” the landlord said to her.

Harish had sent a truck from his company for the move, along with a couple of young men to help, and by evening they'd emptied the apartment. On the final trip, Ramchandra sat in the front of the truck with Sanu, who'd been quiet since she was told that they were going to live in Pandey Palace.

“So, what do you think?” Ramchandra asked her now. These days he talked to her as if she were a grown woman.

“Think about what?”

“About us living in Pandey Palace.”

“Since when did my opinion matter?”

“You don't approve?” He noticed a hint of rouge on her cheeks.

“I prefer to live in Jaisideval. I have friends here.”

“But you understand your grandmother's problem, don't you?”

Silent, she looked out the window; then she said, “I don't know what to think. They've always made so much about our not having a house of our own, and now we're moving into their house.”

“You should feel some pity for your grandmother. She's not what she used to be.”

“What do you feel about this?”

The way she asked him, her head slightly tilted, reminded him of Goma. “I am following your mother's wishes. She wants to take care of your grandmother.”

Sanu said, “I hope it's not a permanent move.”

“I don't think it will be. Once your grandmother gets better, we'll find a place of our own.” But he knew his words were unconvincing.