by Marisha Pink
THIRTY-ONE
ARUN stepped back and held the door open, gesturing for Rajubhai Joshi to enter the house. The look on the usually mild-mannered man’s face was serious and foreboding and Arun couldn’t quash the rising panic he felt in his chest. If Rajubhai Joshi was there instead of Chandni, then it could only mean one thing. The old man moved slowly, but with purpose and, seating himself amongst the cushions, he looked up at Arun expectantly.
‘Can … can I get you anything, sir?’ Arun squeaked, clearing his throat.
He had meant to sound confident and manly, but his voice emerged shrill and pitchy, betraying his underlying concern.
‘Just a small cup of water, please,’ Rajubhai Joshi responded coolly, giving nothing away.
Arun made his way to the kitchen, all the while feeling the heat of Rajubhai Joshi’s eyes on his back, and shakily poured the drink. He returned and set the cup down on the floor beside the old man, before stepping back, afraid to get too close.
‘Please, sit,’ said Rajubhai Joshi, gesturing to the cushions scattered opposite him.
Fearfully Arun did as he was instructed and lowered himself down cross-legged onto the cushions, balling his fists in his lap anxiously. Rajubhai Joshi reached forward and took a long, slow sip of water, never averting his gaze from Arun’s face. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get to the purpose of his visit and the manner in which he was studying Arun, slowly drinking him in from the top of his coffee-coloured head to the soles of his dirty feet, made Arun increasingly uncomfortable.
‘I know,’ he said at last, placing the cup of water back on the floor.
‘Know what, sir?’
‘Of your plan to run off to Mumbai with my daughter.’
‘I’m not planning to run off to Mumbai with your daughter, sir,’ answered Arun, swallowing guiltily.
‘Do not lie to me, Arun. The gods do not look favourably upon those who distort the truth.’
‘It’s not a lie, sir, I promise.’
‘Really? Tell me then, is it not true that it was under your encouragement that she applied to this travel programme in Mumbai?’
‘Okay, yes, that is true, but –’
‘And is it, or is it not, true that you yourself are planning to attend medical college in Mumbai?’
‘Yes, sir, it’s true,’ mumbled Arun, realising that it was futile to argue back.
‘And tell me, have you, or have you not, been luring her off to the city behind my back each week, in order to take advantage of her innocence?’
‘Oh God no,’ breathed Arun, mortified that he was having to suffer this conversation with Rajubhai Joshi, when he’d never even discussed the matter with Chandni. ‘It wasn’t like that at all. I never touched her, I swear.’
‘Never?’
‘Not once.’
‘So you weren’t touching her and kissing her outside of my mandir only a few nights ago? Is that what you’re saying to me, Arun?’
Arun hung his head in defeat, knowing that whatever he said would only make things worse. He had no idea how Rajubhai Joshi had found out about all of these things, but he had pieced them all together incorrectly to paint a picture much seedier than the reality.
‘Do you have any idea of the damage you could have caused?’ he continued rhetorically. ‘This is not England, Arun. I’ve seen your movies, I know how your young men and women behave: drinking too much, never getting married and having a good time with a different person each week. Things do not work like that here.’
‘I know that, sir, I –’
‘What if someone had seen you? People would have been talking about her, my Chandni, and talking about me, thinking that I cannot control even my own daughter. I’m already having a difficult enough time trying to marry her, without you tainting her also.’
‘Oh, Rajubhai Joshi, sir, it isn’t like that. I really care for your daughter,’ he protested meekly.
‘Arun, if you cared for her, you would have thought about how your actions would affect her. Filling her head with these silly little ideas, promising her that she can go to Mumbai, making her think that she has what it takes to become a travel guide. Can you not see that you are simply setting her up for disappointment?’
‘But she does have what it takes,’ whined Arun.
He was grateful for the fact that Rajubhai Joshi was calm, but he was frustrated on Chandni’s behalf by his lack of belief in her.
‘Arun, you do not know my daughter like I do. She has never been outside of this village for more than one day at a time; how do you suppose she would cope in a big city all alone? Mumbai is a dangerous place for those unaccustomed to its pace; anything could happen to her there. There is nothing wrong with a simple life here in the village. A life devoted to God, with her family and friends, where she belongs.’
‘But that’s just it, she doesn’t want a simple life. If –’
‘She was content with it, until you came along.’
‘But, sir, if you just –’
‘Your mother was a very good friend of mine, Arun,’ interrupted Rajubhai Joshi. ‘She was a wonderful woman and a devout Hindu, whose passing caused me great personal sadness. It is only out of respect for her memory that I have found the restraint not to be harsher in my dealings with you today, but from now on, you are to stay away from Chandni. Do you understand me?’
‘But –’
‘I mean it, Arun. If I so much as see you talking to her, I will have you forcibly removed from this village. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ mouthed Arun, solemnly.
‘Good,’ pronounced Rajubhai Joshi, struggling to his feet. He drained the last dregs of water from his cup and, setting it to one side, disappeared through the front door without a backward glance.
Arun stared at the space where the old man had been. He felt hollow and numb, as though someone had removed all feeling from his body and placed it into a box for safe keeping, forgetting that he might need it on occasion. Everything was falling apart and he was powerless to stop it. Only a few days before he had been full of confidence and clear about the path that he wanted to follow, but now Arthur was threatening to disown him and, when he needed to talk to Chandni the most, it was the one thing that he was forbidden from doing. He desperately craved her words of wisdom, her shining optimism and the reassuring comfort of her embrace, but something told him that Rajubhai Joshi had not been quite so forgiving in his dealings with her, and whatever rebellious streak remained, whatever urges she might still feel, he knew that she would not act upon them now.
Arun felt lost and entirely overwhelmed for the second time in as many days, the familiar sting of frustrated tears pricking his eyes once more. The tears came thick and fast and he sobbed for what he had lost, sobbed for what could have been and sobbed for what he was being denied. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that this journey to India would take him to the places that it had and now it had taken him full circle, right back to the place that he thought he had left behind. A place of sadness, loneliness and longing for a life that he could not have.
‘Arun? What’s the matter?’ came Hanara’s voice from the door. She rushed immediately to his side, but Arun was too emotional to speak and as she cradled his head in her lap, willing him to explain what had occurred, he could do nothing but sob harder.
It took until Lucky’s return that evening for Arun to regain his composure, but the feeling of numbness prevailed. Slumped against the cushions during dinner, he wearily pushed the food around his plate, his appetite buried beneath the depths of his sorrow. After much goading from Lucky, he had recounted the details of his exchanges with both Arthur and Rajubhai Joshi, but his eyes remained stony and dry, with no more tears left to cry. Lucky and Hanara were surprised to learn that Arthur had been so explosive and that by contrast Rajubhai Joshi had been so calm, and though they were sympathetic to his predicament, neither was able to offer a viable solution.
Arun didn’t want to go home and if he did he was cer
tain that Arthur would wield the payment of his tuition fees over him and prevent him from returning to India ever again. Yet if he stayed, with no money and no means of supporting himself, how would he ever make it to medical college in Mumbai? He would be forced to leave the village sooner than he thought in order to find a suitably well-paying job, but even then it could take years before he was able to save enough money. And what of his beloved Chandni? How could he stay and see her face every day, knowing that he couldn’t speak to her, let alone touch her? How could he go to Mumbai and leave her behind?
For a week, the same thoughts swam round and round in Arun’s head, until he thought that he might implode from overanalysing his options. Lucky and Hanara did their best to help him work through his thoughts and feelings, but there could be no doubt that the stress of the situation was getting to him. Unable to eat and incapable of sleep, the days merged together in a jumbled blur until Arun resembled a frail shadow of his former self. His hair was lank and overgrown, his face tired and gaunt, and the bones of his shoulders protruded unattractively through the skin, because of the amount of weight that he had lost. Though at first it had made him happy to glimpse Chandni, even from a distance, evenings at the mandir had quickly become unbearable and the indifference that she had been forced to assume tore painfully at his heart. Eventually, the insatiable yearnings and desires sent him spiralling into a deep depression and, constantly feeling tired and weak, Arun’s days in the shop were spent staring into space, hoping for a solution to magically appear.
On one such day, when Arun was so lost in self-pity that he could no longer discern what day it was, he was roused from his stupor by the unexpected sight of Chandni and Rajubhai Joshi approaching the shop. Simultaneously scared and excited, he quickly pulled himself up and slicked back his hair, in a bid to appear a little more presentable. By the time they reached the shop, he could see that Chandni too had lost a lot of weight, but she kept her pale, sad face fixed to the floor, speaking only when addressed directly by her father.
‘Good afternoon, Arun.’
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he croaked, desperately trying to keep his eyes from wandering over to Chandni.
‘Show him which one it is that you need then,’ continued Rajubhai Joshi, turning to face his daughter.
‘Just one packet of those, please,’ mumbled Chandni, pointing to a box of sanitary towels without lifting her eyes from the ground.
Arun reached up to the shelf behind him and placed the box on the counter, lightly grazing Chandni’s palm, but never taking his eyes off Rajubhai Joshi’s expressionless face. Chandni scooped the box into her purse whilst her father noisily dropped a few silver coins into Arun’s outstretched palm by way of payment.
‘Thank you, Arun. Come along, Chandni,’ he ordered.
Within seconds the tense experience was over and Arun watched as Chandni obediently trudged down the puddle-filled dirt path after her father. They were some distance away when Arun saw something fall from Chandni’s balled fist and flutter gently to the floor. His immediate instinct was to call out to her, but not wishing to incur Rajubhai Joshi’s wrath, he thought better of it and remained mute. When the two figures were no more than specs in the distance, Arun stepped out of the shop and walked towards where the object had fallen. Lying in the mud was a small slip of white paper bearing his name that had been folded several times into a small square. Lifting it from the ground, he wiped off the terracotta sludge and carefully began to unravel the folds of paper.
Come to my house tomorrow afternoon.
Bapu-ji will be away.
C x
