The Guru of Love (6 page)

A year before he started teaching at Kantipur School, when his mother was still alive and it became obvious to Ramchandra that his in-laws' expectations of him would be a constant irritation, he'd asked his mother, with bitterness, why she thought Goma's hand had been given to him in marriage. The parents could easily have married her to someone with more money. “Maybe she was not a virgin,” his mother abruptly said. “Maybe she slept around with other men, and her father was afraid no one would marry her.” Ramchandra tried not to flush with embarrassment. In her old age his mother sometimes spoke her mind without regard to propriety. Ramchandra knew Goma had been a virgin the first time they made love, but he had wondered whether her parents were avoiding some sort of scandal by marrying her off to a poor student.

Ramchandra's suspicions about Goma's past surfaced again one evening during a gathering at Pandey Palace. Throughout dinner, Ramchandra had been subjected relentlessly to innuendoes by his father-in-law in the presence of all the relatives, and as the evening progressed, a dark cloud formed in Ramchandra's mind. Then, when Goma was in the kitchen, Mrs. Pandey brought out barfis. She served everyone, starting with Harish, until it was time to offer a piece to Ramchandra—and there was none left. “So foolish of me,” Mrs. Pandey said. “I should have bought more.” Treating the senior son-in-law like that was bad enough—Ramchandra was staring at the floor in shame—but what Mrs. Pandey said next made him feel he was burning. “But what does it matter, eh, son-in-law? This penchant for sweets is a matter of habit, after all. When one is not used to eating them, then one doesn't miss them.”

As soon as Ramchandra and Goma stepped out of Pandey Palace, he blurted out to his wife what had been on his mind: that her rich parents had wedded her to him because of some past scandal, that perhaps she'd had a lover, or several lovers. Dumbfounded, Goma gasped and then started to cry, on the street, while she held little Sanu on her hip. Immediately Ramchandra regretted his accusation. She'd given no indication of a past or present lover. He'd discovered no secret notes under her clothes in the cupboard; no suspicious letters had been delivered by the postman; he'd seen no faraway look in her eyes, the kind he imagined women with lovers would have. He tried to console her, saying that he was sorry. And she replied, “I am a Hindu woman. I am not that kind.”

Now, in Ramchandra's flat, Mrs. Pandey said, “Politics, politics,” looking at her husband fondly as he droned on about the power-wielding people he knew. “This son-in-law knows nothing about politics,” she said as if Ramchandra weren't present. “I wish Harish babu were here. He knows some politicians in the city.”

Goma, who had just entered the room with a tray of tea and sweets, caught the tail end of the conversation. Ramchandra had leaned his head against the wall and almost closed his eyes. He wanted Goma to say something to her mother, but, as usual, she didn't. She merely looked at him guiltily, then set the tray on the floor. Rakesh reached for a barfi, and Goma scolded him, saying he must wait for his grandparents to start eating. Sanu peeked in through the door. “Grandmother, did you bring me the jewelry you promised?”

Mrs. Pandey had forgotten. Apparently, she had promised her granddaughter two of her very old silver necklaces, once worn by women in Rana palaces. She apologized to Sanu, who asked, “And what did you give Rakesh?” Then it was discovered that the entire bar of chocolate was sitting in Rakesh's stomach, and a ruckus ensued. Sanu accused her grandparents of playing favorites with their grandson. “I know why you like him and you hate me,” Sanu said to her grandparents through her tears. “It's because he's a son, isn't it?”

Mr. Pandey, staring at Sanu, let his mouth hang open. His mind was probably stuck on some important government official in the Home Ministry. Mrs. Pandey attempted to mollify Sanu, saying of course she didn't favor one over the other, that both of them were very important to her. But when she reached to put her arm around Sanu, the girl pushed it away and said, “You think I don't know you two? You think you are such big shots, sitting in that grand house over there? And you treat Ba as if he were a dog. He's my father!”

Sanu's outburst left everyone stunned. Ramchandra had never realized that his daughter was pained by the grandparents' behavior toward him.

“Sanu! What nonsense are you uttering?” Goma exclaimed.

“And you,” Sanu said to her mother. “You are frightened like a soaked cat in front of your parents.” She stormed off to her room, banging the door behind her.

“What's come over her?” Ramchandra said.

“I don't know where she gets these ideas,” Goma said.

Mr. and Mrs. Pandey stared at the sweets and the tea; then Mr. Pandey said, to his wife, in a loud voice, “Why didn't you bring the jewelry you promised? Why raise a young girl's expectations like that?”

“I forgot,” Mrs. Pandey said. “I can't be expected to remember everything.”

“Don't worry about it,” Goma said. “That girl has become very bigheaded.”

“Why did Didi call Ba a dog?” Rakesh asked.

“Be quiet,” Goma said, ruffling her son's hair. “Why didn't you save some chocolate for your sister? Then none of this would have happened.”

“Do you think our Ba is a dog, Grandma?” Rakesh asked.

Before Mrs. Pandey could answer, Goma said, “Okay, enough. Go outside and play,” and she ushered Rakesh out the door.

For a while the four sipped their tea in silence. No one reached for the sweets, although Ramchandra was tempted to. He was feeling a perverse kind of glee. His daughter had told the Pandeys what they needed to hear.

“All of this will come to no good,” Mr. Pandey finally said, then grabbed a piece of barfi and scrutinized it.

Everyone looked at him expectantly, for what he'd say next. “People are going to die for no reason. We need the king.”

“I don't know what's happening,” Goma said, apparently relieved that the conversation had shifted elsewhere. “I don't understand why people are so upset.”

“People are fools,” Mr. Pandey said.

“I don't think they are fools,” Ramchandra said. “There's much wrong with the Panchayat system.” He was pleased by his boldness.

Mr. Pandey popped the barfi into his mouth and said, “It's the best system we have.”

“How can it be the best system if so many people are unhappy?”

Ramchandra thought he was going to be challenged, but he was wrong; apparently Sanu's outburst had mellowed Mr. Pandey. He chewed his barfi contentedly.

The talk gradually turned to other matters, and the closed door to the children's room was the only reminder of what had taken place. Because of the houses surrounding the courtyard, they could not see the sun go down, but they knew of its descent, behind the mountains to the west, as everything inside gradually turned gray, and a film of dust could be seen in the twilight, rising and falling, swirling in the air, fogging their view of one another, until Goma got up and turned on the light. Rakesh, his stomach filled with chocolate, had fallen asleep on the floor. The Pandeys decided it was time to leave, and Mrs. Pandey indicated she had something to say to her daughter in private. She urged the men to go downstairs. “It'll take only a minute.”

Ramchandra never liked it when, at family gatherings, Mrs. Pandey took Goma aside and whispered in her ear. When they were together like that, with the mother's mouth close to her daughter's ear, a strange expression came over Goma's face, as if she and her mother were in collusion, perhaps against him. He knew this was not true, but the way Goma looked, like a little girl sharing a secret with her childhood friend, made him feel he was an outsider. He never asked what her mother had whispered to her, but sometimes late at night, when they were alone, Goma would say, “Mother was saying...” and it usually turned out to be gossip about a relative or some concern of Mrs. Pandey about the health of her husband, who had bladder and stomach problems. “Does she ever say anything about me?” Ramchandra had once asked, and Goma had said, “Nothing she wouldn't tell you to your face.” Somehow Ramchandra hadn't believed her, and now, as he walked down the stairs with his father-in-law, he was almost certain that Mrs. Pandey was going to say something about him to her daughter, something that had to do with buying a house, perhaps suggesting that they take a loan. He watched the back of his father-in-law's head, the wisps of hair on his scalp.

Downstairs, Mr. Pandey pulled his shawl tighter around him and said, “Son-in-law, it's time to start taking things seriously.”

Across the courtyard, a silhouette appeared in one of the windows. It was Mr. Sharma, who worked in the government's insurance department. To distract his father-in-law, Ramchandra called out to his neighbor, “It's a cold evening, isn't it, Mr. Sharma?” Mr. Sharma waved back, but didn't say anything.

“Things cannot remain this way forever,” Mr. Pandey said. “Look at this.” He waved his hand toward the courtyard and the surrounding old houses. “Is this a decent place to live?”

Ramchandra cocked an ear toward the door for the sound of footsteps on the staircase.

Mr. Pandey sighed deeply and said, “A nice little house in Kathmandu; doesn't need to be big. Two rooms should be enough.”

“In a few years,” Ramchandra said.

Across the courtyard, Mr. Sharma appeared to be listening intently to their conversation.

“In a few years, in a few years. That kind of talk has been going on for too long.”

“But one has to understand that mere talking about it doesn't produce a house. One needs money.''

Mr. Pandey shook his head, as if money were an inconsequential factor. “One doesn't need that much. Besides, if one wants to, one can always acquire some money.”

Ramchandra was thinking of what to say in reply when, at last, he heard the sounds on the staircase. Goma and her mother emerged, laughing.

 

Sanu didn't come out of her room for dinner, despite repeated calls, so Ramchandra went to her. She was seated on the bed, reading a book, and she didn't look up.

“Daughter, come to the kitchen. Food is getting cold.”

She said she wasn't hungry.

Ramchandra went over and sat down beside her. “Are you still angry?”

Sanu shook her head.

“Then why this sullen face? Like—” he searched for a comical comparison—“a monkey who has just lost her coconut to a donkey.”

Sanu didn't crack a smile.

“Come on, let's eat.”

“Why doesn't Mother ever say anything?”

“They don't mean it in a bad way.”

“They treat Uncle Harish differently.”

“They don't mean to.”

“Ba, does living in this flat make us small people?”

“I don't think so. Do you think so?”

She shook her head. “I don't think you become small or big by where you live. But I know that some of my friends at school laugh when they see my house.”

“Their laughter cannot harm us.”

“When do you think we'll be able to build a house of our own?”

“I don't know, Sanu.” He took her hand and played with her fingers. “It might be a long time.”

“How long?”

“I don't know. Maybe years.”

“Will no husband want me because I live in a house like this?”

“Who told you that? Why wouldn't anyone want my pretty daughter?”

She smiled.

“Why are you worried about a husband? First, you have to study, go to a good college.”

“I'm going to be a doctor.”

“What kind of doctor?”

“I am going to be an animal doctor. A vete... a veterian.” She fumbled with the word and Ramchandra laughed.

“Come, right now let's go and treat our stomachs. They're sick, and the only cure is dal-bhat.” He took her hand and led her to the kitchen.

The kitchen, the smallest room in the house, had a window that overlooked the courtyard, and from it Ramchandra saw Mr. Sharma's shadow at his window.

Rakesh was already eating, and Goma served dal-bhat to Sanu and Ramchandra. The vegetable this evening was cauliflower, which they didn't have often, because it was expensive. He asked Goma why she'd bought it, and she replied that her mother had brought her two heads from the garden at Pandey Palace. The Pandeys had a gardener who took excellent care of the vegetables and the flowers. After he heard this, Ramchandra didn't ask for more cauliflower, even though it was delicious.

Seated on the wooden pirkas on the floor, the family ate quietly. Then Goma said to Sanu, “And what came over you this evening? Why did you speak to your grandparents that way?”

Sanu didn't respond, and Ramchandra signaled Goma to be quiet.

In the silence that ensued, they could hear one another chewing.

“This girl,” Goma said. “She thinks she has become big.”

Sanu was playing with the rice on her plate, her face dark.

“I want my children to have respect for their elders,” Goma continued.

“Respect,” Ramchandra said. “Maybe the elders should also learn the meaning of that word.”

Rakesh, who had finished eating, was watching his parents attentively.

“And why aren't you eating?” Goma asked Sanu.

“Not hungry anymore,” she mumbled.

“You can't let that go to waste. Do you know how hard your father works to feed you?”

“Okay, enough,” Ramchandra said. “No more on this subject.” And he coaxed Sanu to eat. She very reluctantly lifted her rice-filled fingers to her mouth.

Later, as Ramchandra and Goma were getting ready for bed, he told her, “Don't speak to her that way. She's very sensitive these days.”

“I am afraid she's getting out of control,” Goma said. “The other day she argued with me about a dress that I didn't want her to wear.”