Mrs Ali’s Road to Happiness

by Farahad Zama

  Most of the verandah would be gone too. If so, would that be the end of the marriage bureau? Would Mr Ali still want to run the bureau when the house he had saved all his life to build was half gone? Just as a well was more than a hole in the ground, a house was more than four walls and a roof. It embodied a family’s soul and its memories. This wasn’t her house, but the thought of losing the wall on which she had created the collage of wedding cards and photos of successful matches brought a lump to her throat. No wonder Madam was so distraught.

  “Are you all right, Aruna?” asked Mr Ali.

  Jolted out of her thoughts, Aruna realised that she had been staring at the collage on the wall and had stopped typing. “Sorry, just thinking…”

  The sound of the gate opening meant that she didn’t have to elaborate. Mr Koteshwar Reddy, the rich man with the bad hip, limped in, supported by a crutch on one side and his nephew on the other. He looked as if his house had been marked for demolition too.

  “Namaskaaram,” said Mr Ali, greeting the two men. “Please sit down. Do you want a glass of water?”

  Despite their refusals, which were expected and which he disregarded as a matter of course, Mr Ali went into the house and came back with two glasses of water.

  “Why did you go to the trouble, sir? There was no need,” said Bobbili, Mr Koteshwar’s nephew and companion. Nevertheless, the two men drank the water with relief. It was very hot out there.

  “You called me some time ago to say that one of our members had contacted you and the match seemed very suitable. How is it going?”

  “What can we say sir? Our bad luck itself is going badly at the moment,” said Bobbili. “As usual, it all went well in the beginning. The family visited us and everything was satisfactory from both sides. The boy is quite good-looking and talked well. He has a good job in the city itself and my uncle here obviously liked that. The bridegroom’s family kept saying that they were not particularly interested in money, but the fact that Sujatha is the sole heiress of a substantial fortune wasn’t exactly a disadvantage.”

  Mr Ali laughed. “Yes, I can see that her being an heiress would not be a problem. So why the long faces?”

  “Simple,” said Mr Koteshwar, speaking for the first time. “This match too has broken down, like all the previous ones. I have spoken to a Vaastu expert and he says that the door to our house facing east and the window facing west are in a straight line with no wall in the way. The expert says that this is causing good fortune to flow straight out of our house with no obstruction. He has recommended that we block the gap between the living room and the hall. It will be inconvenient because it means we have to go round to get to the downstairs bathroom, but if that is the price, then we’ll gladly pay it.”

  Vaastu is the ancient Indian science of architecture. In Mr Ali’s opinion, it had progressed from being a mere science relating to sound construction to an attempted explanation of every ill that might befall a family. Belief in Vaastu was very strong among all the people in that part of India and while it was not sensible to try to argue against it, he had to try.

  “I don’t particularly believe in Vaastu. Let me make a phone call that might shed further light on your problems.” He turned to Aruna. “Please take out the Christian Raju’s file.”

  The phone call was soon made. While they were waiting for Mr Raju to turn up, they were joined by Mr Koteshwar’s granddaughter, Sujatha, the almost-but-never-quite bride, his son, Sukumar and Bobbili’s son, Venkat. Mr Koteshwar and Bobbili looked just as surprised to see their family members as Mr All.

  Mr Ali regarded Sukumar with disquiet and, noticing the glance, Mr Koteshwar turned furiously on to his son. “How dare you come here? Didn’t you promise me that you would never set foot in here again? Mr Ali was quite entitled to call the police after the shenanigans of your last visit and it was only due to the goodness of his heart that he refrained. How dare – ”

  The young man, Venkat, spoke up. “We knew you were both here, great-uncle. That’s why we came.”

  “Why did you come?” said Venkat’s father, Bobbili.

  “Forget this nonsense about a marriage bureau, Thaatha,” said Sujatha to her grandfather. “I’ve decided that I don’t want to go through any more viewing-shooing even if it means I have to remain unmarried for the rest of my life.”

  “Sujatha, what are you saying?” said her grandfather.

  “She is saying something sensible,” said Sukumar. “Learn from your granddaughter. Don’t keep chasing after dreams even after waking up. Don’t – ”

  “Stop it!” said Bobbili, standing up. “It is not a dream to want the daughter of our house to be married. Uncle has never been a quitter, unlike you who’ve always thrown away – ” He stopped abruptly and turned to Mr Koteshwar. “I am sorry, sir. Please forgive me. I forgot myself and spoke harshly to your son. I shouldn’t have done that.” He bent down to touch his master’s feet.

  Venkat stood up, looking angry, and shouted “Don’t abase yourself like that, Dad.”

  None of them noticed the gate opening until a young man walked in. Mr Ali looked up and greeted him. “Welcome, Raju. Thanks for coming when I called.”

  Venkat stared at the newcomer and said, “This is the man who changed his mind. What’s he doing here? I have to go…need to meet a friend…”

  Sujatha turned away, the shock on her face evident at coming face to face with the suitor who had rejected her.

  “No, no. Please sit down. This won’t take long,” said Mr Ali. He turned to Raju. “Is it true that you changed your mind about marrying Mr Koteshwar’s granddaughter?”

  “I did not so much change my mind as have it changed for me,” said Raju. “I met Sujatha and I think she is wonderful.”

  Sujatha glanced at him quickly and appeared puzzled.

  “Sujatha has a sweet face, a lovely voice and a quick wit. I realise that she has been disappointed a few times and is understandably wary, but she is so friendly that one just feels at ease in her presence.”

  “If you thought I was such a good match, then why did you reject me?” asked Sujatha.

  “I am sorry if I hurt you. Even in my dreams, I did not assume that I could get somebody so wonderful as you, but my opinion was changed for me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “After we had met a couple of times and talks were progressing between the families, my parents were approached by somebody from your family and told that you were not suitable marriage material. Apparently, you are already in love with somebody else.”

  “What? That’s rubbish. I am not in love with anybody. Who said that?”

  Mr Koteshwar turned to his son. “It was you, wasn’t it? How low into the gutter can you sink, you wretch? Spoiling your own daughter’s chances of a good marriage, how – ” He started hitting his son with his walking stick.

  Sukumar writhed, trying to get away from his father’s blows. “I didn’t approach anybody,” he protested, his eyes wide, and he turned to Raju. “Don’t tell lies. If you don’t want to marry my daughter, that’s your privilege, but at least have the courage to say it outright, like a man. Don’t wuss out behind stories.”

  “Yes,” chipped in Venkat. “It’s ridiculous sitting here talking to a man who’s insulted our family. Let’s go.” He stood up. “Come on, Suji.”

  Sujatha looked confused, her eyes flicking from Venkat to Raju.

  Raju said, “The man who met my parents and said that you didn’t want to marry me was Venkat.”

  “This is crazy. I am not staying here to listen to this.” Venkat made to leave.

  He had reached the door when Sujatha said softly, “Is it true, Venkat? Did you meet Raju’s parents and tell them that I was not marriage material?”

  Venkat hesitated, one foot in the air, about to step over the threshold. For a moment, he seemed on the point of ignoring her question and walking away, but then he turned back. “Suji…” His voice was bleak.

  “Did you break up the
earlier matches too?”

  “How could I let somebody else marry you? I love you, Suji. And you love me. We are made for each other.”

  Sujatha shrank back into the sofa. “I love you, yes, but like a brother. I’ve never thought of you in terms of marriage. And to go behind my back and wreck so many matches over the years, causing me and everybody else so much misery…How could you, Venky? How could you be so heartless?”

  “I did it for you, Suji. I did it for us.”

  “You don’t hurt people you love, Venky. You did it out of selfishness.”

  “Suji – ”

  “Go,” shouted Sujatha. “I don’t want to see your face again.”

  But Venkat did not leave. He turned towards his father. “It’s entirely your fault, Naanna,” he cried. “You’ve shown no self-respect, behaving like a servant, licking the old man’s shoes. How can anybody treat us with respect if you behave like that? Am I any less than any of the men who’ve come for Suji’s hand? Who has more of a right to the family fortune than us? It wasn’t Sukumar-Uncle who earned the money. It was you, with your hard work and ideas, that kept this family rich. And what will you have to show for it? In a few years, they’ll pat you on your back and turn you out on to the streets like a bullock that can’t pull the plough any more.”

  Venkat’s father, Bobbili, remained mute, his mouth open with horror. “What kind of serpent have I been raising close to my bosom?” he said finally.

  “You’ve never understood me,” screamed Venkat and rushed out.

  When Bobbili rose as if to follow him, Mr Ali spoke. “Excuse me for interfering in your family matters, but let Venkat go. He is full of passion at the moment and words will be said that will be difficult to unsay later on. Once he’s cooled down, it’ll be easier to talk to him.”

  Bobbili turned to Mr Ali. “You saw how he talked. What else is there to say? He has committed a great crime against Sujatha and insulted my uncle. I am ashamed.”

  Mr Ali said, “Nevertheless, discussing matters while emotions are running high will never resolve anything.”

  Mr Koteshwar sighed and his age seemed to settle even more heavily on his shoulders. “We have been fools – blind fools who could not see what was happening in our own house. Venkat might have been a good choice if we had only looked more closely, though it is too late now. But don’t worry, we’ll bring him back on the right path, set him up in a good business and find the perfect girl for him. Then this youthful indiscretion will be forgotten.”

  Bobbili stared for a moment into Mr Koteshwar’s face, then took the older man’s hands in his own, raised them to his lips and started kissing them. Tears rolled down his face. “You are a great man, Uncle. My son does not deserve such forgiveness.”

  Mr Koteshwar said, “Shh…Venkat was right to some extent. The fact that I did not consider him a match for Sujatha shows that at some level I did not regard him as an equal. I too owe both of you an apology.”

  Sujatha’s eyes were magnified behind the thick teardrops that welled up in them. Raju inclined his head towards her in acknowledgement and, with a silent signal to Mr Ali, he left. The others remained seated.

  Sixteen

  Just then, to Mr Ali’s annoyance, a particularly tenacious client turned up. He seemed to spend every other evening at the marriage bureau, looking through the files for a match for his son. Mr Ali had tried to tell him in the past that it was unlikely that his son would get married unless he was prepared to compromise: on the matches’ height, complexion, education, familial wealth, absence of siblings, good looks or willingness to move to America. Two, three or even four of these attributes could be found, but not all in the same girl, especially when the boy was an overweight engineer from a third-class university with an unfortunate tendency towards early baldness.

  As soon as he saw the other client arrive, Mr Ali left Mr Koteshwar and his family on the verandah, came out into the yard and, telling the man that he was busy, asked him to return another time. The client reluctantly walked back with Mr Ali towards the outer gate. Seeing an expensive Japanese car with a driver standing next to it, he asked, “Is that their car?” and nodded towards the house.

  “Yes,” said Mr Ali.

  “The girl looks quite pretty and they are rich as well. Why didn’t you show me matches like that for my son? That’s not good service. Let me go back in, introduce myself and tell them about my son.”

  “No, no,” said Mr Ali. This man’s son was definitely not suitable for Sujatha.

  “Why not?”

  Thinking quickly, Mr Ali leaned forward and spoke softly. “This is highly confidential, so you must promise me not to repeat it anywhere.” Mr Ali looked around as if expecting spies to be eavesdropping on them.

  “All right,” the man said.

  “That girl is not suitable for your wonderful boy. She has fallen in love with a classmate in college and her family have just found out about it. That’s why she is crying.”

  The man looked back, but they were too far away to make anyone out on the verandah.

  “They look like such a good family. Do you think she was actually, you know, having an affair?”

  Mr Ali shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But you are a man of the world…”

  “Wow! Thank you for steering me clear of such dangerous people.”

  Mr Ali stood by the gate to make sure the man really had left before returning. When he sat down again, Mr Koteshwar asked him, “How did you know that young Venkat was spoiling all the matches?”

  “Well, I didn’t know who was causing the break-ups. So I told Raju to keep an eye out on all of you.”

  “Thank you very much for your help in getting to the bottom of the matter,” said Mr Koteshwar. “But we are back at the beginning again. Can you show us the details of some more bridegrooms? If you have any photos, Sujatha can take a look while she is here.”

  “Aruna and I can show you many more matches, but you’ve already got one with whom you were perfectly happy. I mean Raju. Now that he knows that Sujatha is not in love with somebody else, why not talk to him again?”

  Sujatha’s eyes widened and she looked up with sudden interest.

  “That sounds like a good – Hang on, didn’t you say that Raju was a Christian when you asked for his papers earlier?”

  “Did I?” said Mr Ali.

  Aruna nodded.

  “He is your caste. Although his grandfather converted to Christianity, his grandmother never did. But you are right, he is a Christian.”

  “How can you suggest a man like that, sir?” said Bobbili. “We are a respected family. What will people say if we marry our daughter to a Christian?”

  “There is nothing wrong with being Christian.”

  “Of course not. But just as foxes should marry foxes and it’s not a good idea for a cat to marry a dog, Christians should marry Christians and Hindus should marry Hindus.”

  Mr Ali said, “In the National Gallery of London, there was apparently a painting by a great master. It was very expensive, worth millions, and everybody, public and critics alike, thought it lovely and attractive. It took pride of place in the gallery. But then scientific tests showed that it had first been drawn with a pencil painted over with modern pigments, so it was a fake. The painting has been banished to a storeroom and nobody can see it any more.”

  Aruna saw that the Koteshwar family looked puzzled.

  Mr Ali continued, “The painting was the same as it was before when people praised it and respected it. Now, suddenly, it’s hidden away and it’s not worth more than a few thousand. Do you see what I am saying? The painting is no different today than it was the previous day – it’s our perception of it that has changed. So it is with Raju. If you thought yesterday he was a good man and that his family was suitable, then why change your mind regarding him today?”

  “I see what you are saying but it’s not so simple…” said Mr Koteshwar.

  Sujatha spoke up. “Of all the men that I ha
ve seen, I liked Ajay the best. But, thinking back now, he was just a Britannia-biscuit boy, a milksop, under the thumb of his mother. Compared to him, Raju feels like a real man.” She blushed when everybody looked at her. “I think I want to know him better.”

  “What are you saying, Sujatha? How can you even think like that? Today has been very emotional and you are not thinking straight. Let us go home.”

  Sujatha agreed meekly, but as they left Aruna caught her eye, which gleamed with a determination that showed that, in the girl’s mind, an invisible Lakshman Rekha, an unseen Rubicon, had been crossed.

  ♦

  “We must stop seeing each other like this!” said Rehman, smiling.

  “On the contrary, I think we should meet even more frequently,” said Usha.

  They were on Kailasa Giri, a mountain just to the north of the town that had been named after the abode of Lord Siva and his consort, Parvati. Unsurprisingly, large white statues of the god and goddess were seated side by side, dominating the summit behind Rehman and Usha.

  “Is your research for the HUT article finished?” asked Rehman.

  “Almost,” said Usha. “Thanks for helping out. I know you took enormous risks for me.” She reached out and touched the back of his hand.

  The feel of her soft fingers on his skin discomfited Rehman and he fixed his eyes on the sweep of the miles-long beach far below. The water was steel-grey except for the white surf of the waves. Several fishing boats powered by sail dotted the ocean and, further out, almost on the horizon, a line of larger merchant ships waited their turn into the port.

  He finally looked at her and shrugged. “I am always glad to help.”

  A sad smile stole over Usha’s face. “I know, Rehman. But not many people would do what you did. I often think I made a mistake by breaking off our engagement.”