The phone on his desk rang. There’s a car waiting for you at the front door, sir.’
Jamwal had rarely been known to cross the dance floor for a woman, let alone an ocean.
When the 747 touched down at San Francisco International Airport at five forty-five the following morning, Jamwal took the first available cab and headed for the Palo Alto Hotel.
Some discreet enquiries at the concierge’s desk, accompanied by a ten-dollar bill, produced the information he required. After a quick shower, shave and change of clothes, another cab drove him across to the university campus.
When the smartly dressed young man wearing a Harvard tie walked into the registrar’s office and asked where he might find Miss Nisha Chowdhury, the woman behind the counter smiled and directed him to the north block, room forty-three.
As Jamwal strolled across the campus, few students were to be seen, other than early morning joggers or those returning from very late-night parties. It brought back memories of Harvard.
When he reached the north block, he made no attempt to enter the building, fearing he might find her with another man. He took a seat on a bench facing the front door and waited. He checked his watch every few minutes, and began to wonder if she had already gone to breakfast. A dozen thoughts flashed through his mind while he waited. What would he do if she appeared on Sanjay Promit’s arm? He’d slink back to Delhi on the next flight, lick his wounds and move on to the next girl. But what if she was away for the weekend and didn’t plan to return until Monday morning, when term began? He had several pressing appointments on Monday, none of whom would be impressed to learn that Jamwal was on the other side of the world chasing a girl he’d only met twice – well, three times if you counted the pigtail incident.
When she came through the swing doors, he immediately knew why he’d circled half the globe to sit on a wooden bench at eight o’clock in the morning.
Nisha walked straight past him. She wasn’t ignoring Jamwal this time, but simply hadn’t registered who it was sitting on the bench. Even when he rose to greet her, she didn’t immediately recognize him, perhaps because he was the last person on earth she expected to see. Suddenly her whole face lit up, and it seemed only natural that he should take her in his arms.
‘What brings you to Stanford, Jamwal?’ she asked once he’d released her.
‘You,’ he replied simply.
‘But why—’ she began.
‘I’m just trying to make up for tying you to a lamp post.’
‘I could still be there for all you cared,’ she said, grinning. ‘So tell me, Jamwal, have you already had breakfast with another woman?’
‘I wouldn’t be here if there was another woman,’ he said.
‘I was only teasing,’ she said softly, surprised that he had risen so easily to her bait. Not at all his reputation. She took his hand as they walked across the lawn together.
Jamwal could always recall exactly how they had spent the rest of that day. They ate breakfast in the refectory with five hundred chattering students; walked hand-in-hand around the lake – several times; lunched at Benny’s diner in a corner booth, and only left when they became aware that they were the last customers. They talked about going to the theatre, a film, perhaps a concert, and even checked what was playing at the Globe, but in the end they just walked and talked.
When he took Nisha back to the north block just after midnight, he kissed her for the first time, but made no attempt to cross the threshold. The gossip columnists had got that wrong as well, at least that was something his mother would approve of. His final words before they parted were, ‘You do realize that we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together?’
Jamwal couldn’t sleep on the long flight back to Delhi as he thought about how he would break the news to his parents that he had fallen in love. Within moments of landing, he was on the phone to Nisha to let her know what he’d decided to do.
‘I’m going to fly up to Jaipur during the week and tell my parents that I’ve found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, and ask for their blessing.’
‘No, my darling,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t think it would be wise to do that while I’m stuck here on the other side of the world. Perhaps we should wait until I return.’
‘Does that mean you’re having second thoughts?’ he asked in a subdued voice.
‘No, I’m not,’ she replied calmly, ‘but I also have to think about how I break the news to my parents, and I’d prefer not to do it over the phone. After all, my father may be just as opposed to the marriage as yours.’
Jamwal reluctantly agreed that they should do nothing until Nisha had graduated and returned to Delhi. He thought about visiting his brother in Chennai and asking him to act as an intermediary, but just as quickly dismissed the idea, only too aware that in time he would have to face up to his father. He would have discussed the problem with his sister Silpa, but however much she might have wanted to keep his secret, within days she would have shared it with their mother.
In the end Jamwal didn’t even tell his closest friends why he boarded a flight to San Francisco every Friday afternoon, and why his phone bill had recently tripled.
As each week went by, he became more certain that he’d found the only woman he would ever love. He also accepted that he couldn’t put off telling his parents for much longer.
Every Saturday morning Nisha would be standing by the arrivals gate at San Francisco International airport waiting for him to appear. On Sunday evening, he would be among the last passengers to have their passports checked before boarding the overnight flight to Delhi.
When Nisha walked up on to the stage to be awarded her degree by the President of Stanford, two proud parents were sitting in the fifth row warmly applauding their daughter.
A young man was standing at the back of the hall, applauding just as enthusiastically. But when Nisha stepped down from the stage to join her parents for the reception, Jamwal decided the time had come to slip away. When he arrived back at his hotel, the concierge handed him a message:
Jamwal,
Why don’t you join us for dinner at the Bel Air?
Shyam Chowdhury
It became clear to Jamwal within moments of meeting Nisha’s parents that they had known about the relationship for some time, and they left him in no doubt that they were delighted to have a double cause for celebration: their daughter’s graduation from Stanford, and meeting the man there she’d fallen in love with.
The dinner lasted long into the night, and Jamwal found it easy to relax in the company of Nisha’s parents. He only wished . . .
‘A toast to my daughter on her graduation day,’ said Shyam Chowdhury, raising his glass.
‘Daddy, you’ve already proposed that toast at least six times,’ said Nisha.
‘Is that right?’ he said, raising his glass a seventh time. ‘Then let’s toast Jamwal’s graduation day.’
‘I’m afraid that was several years ago, sir,’ said Jamwal.
Nisha’s father laughed, and turning to his prospective son-in-law, said, ‘If you plan to marry my daughter, young man, then the time has come for me to ask you about your future.’
‘That may well depend, sir, on whether my father decides to cut me off, or simply sacrifice me to the gods,’ he replied. Nobody laughed.
‘You have to remember, Jamwal,’ said Nisha’s father, placing his glass back on the table, ‘that you are the son of a maharaja, a Rajput, whereas Nisha is the daughter of a—’
‘I don’t give a damn about that,’ said Jamwal.
‘I feel sure you don’t,’ said Shyam Chowdhury. ‘But I have no doubt that your father does, and that he always will. He is a proud man, steeped in the Hindi tradition. So if you decide to go ahead and marry my daughter against his wishes, you must be prepared to face the consequences.’
‘I appreciate what you are saying, sir,’ said Jamwal, now calmer. ‘I love my parents, and will always respect their traditions. But I have ma
de my choice and I will stand by it.’
‘It is not only you who will have to stand by it, Jamwal,’ said Mr Chowdhury. ‘If you decide to defy the wishes of your father, Nisha will have to spend the rest of her life proving that she is worthy of you.’
‘Your daughter has nothing to prove to me, sir,’ said Jamwal.
‘It isn’t you I am worried about.’
Nisha returned to Delhi a few days later and moved back into her parents’ home in Chanakyapuri. Jamwal wanted them to be married as soon as possible, but Nisha was more cautious, only because she wanted him to be certain before he took such an irrevocable step.
Jamwal had never been more certain about anything in his life. He worked harder than ever by day, buoyed up by the knowledge that he would be spending the evening with the woman he adored. He no longer had any desire to visit the flesh-pots of the young. The fashionable clubs and fast cars had been replaced by visits to the theatre, ballet and opera, followed by quiet dinners in restaurants that cared more about their cuisine than about which Bollywood star was sitting next to which model at which table. Each night after he’d driven her home he always left her with the same words: ‘How much longer do I have to wait before you will agree to be my wife?’
Nisha was about to tell him that she could see no reason why they should wait any longer, when the decision was taken out of her hands.
One evening, just as Jamwal had finished work and was leaving to join Nisha for dinner, the phone on his desk rang.
‘Jamwal, it’s your mother. I’m so glad to catch you.’ He could feel his heart beating faster as he anticipated her next sentence. ‘I was hoping you might be able to come up to Jaipur for the weekend. There’s a young lady your father and I are keen for you to meet.’
After he had put the phone down, Jamwal didn’t call Nisha. He knew that he would have to explain to her face to face why there had been a change of plan. Jamwal drove slowly over to her home in Chanakyapuri, relieved that her parents were away for the weekend visiting relatives in Hyderabad.
When Nisha opened the front door, she only had to look into his eyes to realize what must have happened. She was about to speak, when he said, ‘I’ll be flying up to Jaipur this weekend to visit my parents, but before I leave, there’s something I have to ask you.’
Nisha had prepared herself for this moment, and if they were to part, as she had always feared they might, she was determined not to break down in front of him. That could come later, but not until he’d left. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands – something she’d always done as a child when she didn’t want her parents to realize she was trembling – before looking up at the man she loved.
‘I want you to try to understand why I’m flying to Jaipur,’ he said. Nisha dug her nails deeper into the palms of her hands, but it was Jamwal who was trembling. ‘Before I see my father, I need to know if you still want to be my wife, because if you do not, I have nothing to live for.’
‘Jamwal, welcome home,’ said his mother as she greeted her son with a kiss. ‘I’m so glad you were able to join us for the weekend.’
‘It’s wonderful to be back,’ said Jamwal, giving her a warm hug.
‘Now, there’s no time to waste,’ she said as they walked into the hall. ‘You must go and change for dinner. Your father and I have something very important to discuss with you before our guests arrive.’
Jamwal remained at the bottom of the sweeping marble staircase while a servant took his bags up to his room. ‘And I have something very important to discuss with you,’ he said quietly.
‘Nothing that can’t wait, I’m sure,’ said his mother smiling up at her son, ‘because among our guests tonight is someone who I know is very much looking forward to meeting you.’
How Jamwal wished it was he who was saying those same words because he was about to introduce his mother to Nisha. But he doubted if petals would ever be strewn at the entrance of this home to welcome his bride on their wedding day.
‘Mother, what I have to tell you can’t wait,’ he said. ‘It’s something that has to be discussed before we sit down for dinner.’ His mother was about to respond when Jamwal’s father came out of his study, a broad smile on his face.
‘How are you, my boy?’ he asked, shaking hands with his son as if he’d just returned from prep school.
‘I’m well, thank you, Father,’ Jamwal replied, giving him a traditional bow, ‘as I hope you are.’
‘Never better. And I hear great things about your progress at work. Most impressive.’
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘No doubt your mother has already warned you that we have a little surprise for you this evening.’
‘And I have one for you, Father,’ he said quietly.
‘Another promotion in the pipeline?’
‘No, Father. Something far more important than that.’
‘That sounds ominous, my boy. Shall we retire to my study for a few moments while your mother changes for dinner?’
‘I would like Mother to be present when I tell you my news.’
The Maharaja looked apprehensive, but stood aside to allow his wife and son to enter the study. Both men remained standing until the Maharani had taken her seat.
Once the Maharani had sat down, Jamwal turned to his mother and said in a gentle voice, ‘Mother, I have fallen in love with the most wonderful young woman, and I want you to know that I have asked her to be my wife.’
The Maharani bowed her head.
Jamwal turned to face his father, who was gripping the arms of his chair, ashen-faced, but before Jamwal could continue, the Maharaja said, ‘I have never concerned myself with the way you conduct your life in Delhi, even when those activities have been reported in the gutter press. Heaven knows, I was young myself once. But I have always assumed that you were aware of your duties to this family, and that in time would marry a young woman not only from your own background, but who also met with the approval of your mother and myself.’
‘Nisha and I are from the same background, Father, so let’s be frank, it’s not her background we’re discussing, but my caste.’
‘No,’ said his father, ‘what we are discussing is your responsibility to the family that raised you, and bestowed on you all the privileges you have taken for granted since the day you were born.’
‘Father,’ said Jamwal quietly, ‘I didn’t fall in love simply to annoy you. What has happened between Nisha and me is something rare and beautiful, and a cause for celebration, not anger. That is why I returned home in the hope of receiving your blessing.’
‘You will never have my blessing,’ said his father. ‘And if you are foolish enough to go ahead with this unacceptable union, you will not be welcome in this house again.’
Jamwal looked towards his mother, but her head remained bowed and she didn’t speak.
‘Father,’ Jamwal said, turning back to face him, ‘won’t you even meet Nisha before you make your decision?’
‘Not only will I never meet this young woman, but also no member of this family will ever be permitted to come into contact with her. Your grandmother must go to her grave unaware of this misalliance, and your brother, who married wisely, will now become not only my successor, but also my sole heir, while your sister will enjoy all the privileges that were once to be bestowed on you.’
‘If it was a lack of wisdom that caused me to fall in love, Father, so be it, because the woman I have asked to be my wife and the mother of my children is a beautiful, intelligent and remarkable human being, with whom I intend to spend the rest of my life.’
‘But she is not a Rajput,’ said his father defiantly.
‘That was not her choice,’ replied Jamwal, ‘as it was not mine.’
‘It is clear to me,’ said his father, ‘that there is no point in continuing with this conversation. You have obviously made up your mind, and chosen to bring dishonour on this house and humiliation to the family we have invited to share our name.’
‘And if I were not to marry Nisha, having given her my word, Father, I would bring dishonour on the woman I love and humiliation to the family whose name she bears.’
The Maharaja rose slowly from his chair and glowered defiantly at his youngest child. Jamwal had never seen such anger in those eyes. He stood to face his wrath, but his father didn’t speak for some time, as if he needed to measure his words.
‘As it appears to me that you are determined to marry this young woman against the wishes of your family, and that nothing I can say will prevent this inappropriate and distasteful union, I now tell you, in the presence of your mother, that you are no longer my son.’
Nisha had been standing by the barrier for over an hour before Jamwal’s plane was due to land, painfully aware that as he was returning on the same day, it could not be good news. She did not want him to see that she’d been crying. While he was away she had resolved that if his father demanded he must choose between her and his family, she would release him from any obligation he felt to her.
When Jamwal strode into the arrivals hall, he looked grim-faced but resolute. He took Nisha firmly by the hand and, without saying a word, led her out on to the concourse, clearly unwilling to tell her what had happened in front of strangers. She feared the worst, but said nothing.
At the taxi rank, Jamwal opened the door for Nisha before climbing in beside her.
‘Where to, sahib?’ asked the driver cheerfully.
‘The High Court,’ Jamwal said without emotion.
‘Why are we going to the High Court?’ asked Nisha.
‘To get married,’ Jamwal replied.
Nisha’s mother and father held a more formal ceremony on the lawn of their home in Chanakyapuri a few days later to celebrate their daughter’s marriage. The festivities had gone on for several days, and culminated in a large party that was attended by over a thousand guests, although not a single member of Jamwal’s family attended the ceremony.
After the newly married couple had danced seven times around Pheras, the final confirmation of their wedding vows, Mr and Mrs Rameshwar Singh strolled around the grounds, speaking to as many of their guests as possible.
The New Collected Short Stories Page 65
