The Guru of Love

by Samrat Upadhyay

  “What shall we eat this morning?” he asked.

  “I don’t need to eat. I’ll cook something for you.”

  “There’s nothing to cook.”

  “I’ll go to the market.”

  “No need to cook only for me,” he said. Two thousand explanations, apologies, excuses floated through his mind, but all he could do, too, was doodle on the floor.

  A loud rap sounded on the door downstairs. “Who could it be?” Ramchandra said. For a moment he didn’t move, thinking that this moment with Goma was too important to break. But the rapping continued, followed by footsteps on the stairs. He went to the landing and saw Malati coming up, holding Rachana on her hip. Sucking in his breath, he bounded down the stairs, and nudged her to go back down. She started to speak, and he shook his head vigorously. In the courtyard, he whispered, “Goma is back.”

  “I am so sorry, sir,” she said. “Malekha Didi kicked me out of the house.”

  “Why?”

  “She said she’s angry about everything.”

  “But you haven’t done anything.”

  “I pleaded with her. It was of no use.”

  “Where are your things?”

  “She threw everything out on the front porch. Says if I don’t pick it all up by this evening, she’ll throw it into the street.”

  Mr. Sharma had come back to his window and was watching. Ramchandra glared at him, then he thought hard and said to Malati, “Okay, right now I’m talking to Goma. Why don’t you come to the school at around eleven, and we’ll find a solution.” He asked whether she’d had anything to eat, and she shook her head, so he fished in his pockets and found a twenty-rupee note for her. He told her the directions to get to his school. “If I’m teaching, just wait outside the door. I’ll find you.”

  “How is bhauju?” she whispered.

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “I am so sorry about this, sir,” she said, her eyes welling up. “But I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Okay, go now.”

  He went upstairs. Goma was in the kitchen, sitting in the same position. It was nearly time for him to get to school. He hadn’t planned on going there today, because he hoped to spend time with Goma and find ways to reconcile, but he couldn’t leave Malati in the lurch. “I’d better get dressed,” he said to Goma, who didn’t look up.

  As he went to the bedroom, he heard her say, in a low voice, “It was Malati, wasn’t it?” He said nothing, just stood in the doorway, his back to her.

  “What does she want?”

  “Nothing. She wanted nothing. It’s over between us.”

  “She’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, but it’s not a big deal.”

  She said nothing more, so he got dressed. His stomach was rumbling. Maybe he could eat a samosa during the break.

  He went back to the kitchen. Goma was now standing by the window, looking out.

  “I am leaving,” he said.

  She turned. Her face had a strange expression, a combination of pain and resolve, and he was slightly afraid of what thoughts were running through her mind. “What are you going to do about her?” she asked.

  “It’s over, Goma. Trust me. Please. I have learned my lesson.”

  “Are you going to leave her, just like that?”

  “It was a momentary thing, a lapse. It’ll happen no more.”

  “A fine man you are,” she said. “Where is she going to go?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t she tell you her stepmother kicked her out of the house?”

  How had she heard that? Had she come down the stairs to listen to them?

  “Yes, but that’s her problem, not ours.”

  Goma gave a short, bitter laugh. “A fine, noble man you are.”

  “I’ve asked her to come to the school,” he admitted. “I’ll give her some money.”

  “You’ll give her money? Is she a prostitute?”

  “What do you want me to do, Goma? I don’t know what to do.”

  They were silent. Then Goma said, “Ask her to come here.”

  “Come here?”

  “Yes, here, to this miserable apartment.”

  Ramchandra laughed.

  “Yes, you two can sleep in the bedroom. I’ll sleep with the children.”

  Ramchandra leaned against the doorway. Goma was dead serious. “Is this your way of punishing me? Saying such things?”

  “I am not punishing you. You asked me to help you.”

  “How will this help me?”

  “Don’t you see?” she said, shaking her head, as if he were a child who couldn’t see the obvious. “You’ve found something in her you haven’t found in me. You have to decide for yourself exactly what that is. And the only way to do so is by being honest, by living with her, as if you were husband and wife.”

  “What nonsense, Goma. This is not a Hindi film.”

  “She needs help right now, doesn’t she? She can’t walk the streets with that child on her hip. The city will swallow her up. She’ll become a prostitute.”

  Ramchandra groaned.

  “And you need help of another kind. You need to find out what it is you crave. So this is the only way.”

  “Impossible,” he said. “Goma, you’ve lost your senses.”

  “Yes, indeed,” she said. “I’m the one who’s lost my senses.”

  “What will the children think?” he finally said. He thought of his daughter, and a moan escaped his mouth. “I can’t do it. What will Sanu think?”

  “I’ll explain things to her.”

  “She’s only thirteen years old. How do you expect her to understand?”

  “You don’t know your daughter.”

  “She’ll hate me for the rest of her life. Goma, this is absurd.”

  “What you did with her, without my knowledge, is more absurd than this.”

  “No, no.”

  “So what will you tell her today at school?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She came closer to him. “Listen to me.” Her voice was firm. “What you’ve done is irreparable. If you two want to be together, I’m not going to stand in your way.”

  He leaned against her shoulder and cried. “What kind of a woman are you? You’re asking me to bring someone home, as if she were my second wife. That’s unnatural. It’s wrong.”

  “Says who?”

  “Society won’t accept it.”

  “Why are you concerned about society now?”

  “People will condemn us. They’ll laugh at you.”

  “I don’t care who laughs at me.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “This is not their problem, therefore not theirs to solve.”

  The room spun, and Ramchandra sat down on the floor. “This is wrong, this is wrong.”

  “It’s the only way. The only way we can reach the truth. The only way I’ll be satisfied living with you from now on. Otherwise, our relationship will always be cold, as it has been these past weeks.”

  “Please don’t do this to me, Goma.”

  “I’m doing nothing to you. I’m offering a solution to a problem that you caused. I’m offering a roof to a girl who has been left homeless. If you have a better solution, let me hear it.”

  Ramchandra closed his eyes. “I need a glass of water.”

  She brought him one, and he gulped it down. She brought him another one, and he drank it, too.

  “Go and bring her home. I’ll get the rooms ready,” Goma said, and went into the children’s room.

  Ramchandra stood up and ran down the stairs.

  At school, he dreaded Malati’s arrival. The students could tell he was distracted and became restive. Some even talked to each other while he outlined a math problem on the board. In his second period, when he was teaching the tenth grade and was writing on the board, something hit him hard on the back. He turned around, and on the floor was a dead rat. The students usually didn’t
play pranks on him as they did to the other teachers, and he’d always assumed, with a degree of smugness, that they respected him. Now he glared at the snickering students, and his eyes fell on one, in the middle of the classroom, a tall, lanky boy with long hair and a red bandana tied around his head. The school rules explicitly forbade extraneous clothing, such as a bandana or a hat, but some of the senior students ignored the rule. Bandana Miss also disliked long hair, and she’d had arguments with this particular student.

  “Okay, who did this?” Ramchandra said loudly. “Mukesh, get up.”

  Mukesh lazily got to his feet. “You need something, sir?”

  “Come with me to Bandana Miss’s office.”

  “For what, sir?”

  The rest of the students were laughing. “Yes, he did it, sir. He’s a naughty, naughty boy,” someone called out.

  Mukesh looked around the classroom with a smile. “Evidence, my dear comrades. Where is the evidence?”

  “Okay, that’s it. Don’t blame me if you fail your S.L.C. You, come with me.” He pointed to Mukesh, picked up the dead rat by its tail, which brought howls of laughter from his students, and left the classroom. Mukesh followed, his hands in his pockets. Ramchandra noticed a string tied around the rat’s limp neck, holding a small note. It read: “The future of Panchayat.” Ramchandra wanted to laugh at the practical joke, but this was a rat, and it had been thrown at him, a teacher. “You want to be expelled? Is that why you do these things?” Ramchandra said.

  Bandana Miss was on the phone, but once she saw the rat dangling from Ramchandra’s hand, she ended her conversation.

  Ramchandra told her what had happened.

  “I didn’t do it,” Mukesh said. His eyes dared Ramchandra.

  “He threw it at me while I was writing on the board.”

  “Did you see him throw it?” Bandana Miss asked. She didn’t even glance at the note around the rat’s neck.

  “I didn’t, but I know he’s the one.”

  “Prove it,” Mukesh said.

  Ramchandra, suddenly remembering that he was holding the rat, dropped it on the floor.

  “Ramchandra-ji,” Bandana Miss said, “pick that up immediately, and both of you, leave my room. It’s the first day of school. I have much work to finish.”

  “Bandana Miss—”

  Bandana Miss smacked her forehead with her palm. “Ramchandra-ji, you didn’t see him throw it, so there’s nothing I can do. Now please leave. I have to prepare for a school board meeting.”

  In the hallway, Mukesh said, “Sir, you targeted me for no reason. What’s your problem? Are you a panchay, a Panchayat lover?”

  Ramchandra contemptuously waved him away and walked down the hall, the rat dangling from his hand, much to the amusement of students passing by.

  “Is that your new love, sir?” someone said loudly.

  Ramchandra took the rat to the office boy, who was basking in the sun in the courtyard. “This is your problem now,” he said.

  The rest of the period was relatively quiet, and Ramchandra once again thought of what he should tell Malati when she arrived. Occasionally he lifted his hand to his nose to see whether the rat smell still lingered.

  Malati was waiting in the staff room, her eyes puffy. Rachana was fidgeting in her lap. Two teachers, both women, were sitting in a corner, looking in their direction and whispering.

  He had about twenty minutes before the next class, so he signaled Malati to follow him to the small tea shop in the alley outside the school. He rarely went there, because the shop buzzed with flies, but it was the only place he could talk to her in private.

  Two students were drinking tea inside the shop, and to his dismay Ramchandra saw that one was Mukesh, who snickered at him as he sat down on a bench with Malati.

  “You look tired,” he told her.

  Rachana smiled up at him.

  “Any luck finding a place?”

  “I don’t know anywhere to go,” Malati said. She didn’t touch the tea in front of her.

  Ramchandra ordered samosas for both of them. “You must be hungry.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said in a small voice.

  Mukesh and his friend were listening intently.

  “Goma wants me to bring you home.”

  Malati looked at him with disbelief. “What are you saying?”

  “She wants to offer you shelter; that’s what I am saying.”

  “After knowing all about—”

  “Yes, yes, you don’t have to say it.” He glanced at the students.

  “But how can I even show my face to her? This is absurd. Isn’t she angry with me?”

  Ramchandra shook his head. The samosas arrived, and Ramchandra asked her to eat, but she didn’t. “She’s not angry with me?”

  Ramchandra took a bite. The samosa was old, and dripping with oil. He set it back on the plate. “I don’t know what she’s feeling. She thinks it’s the best solution.”

  “The best solution,” Malati muttered. The shock was visible on her face. After a moment, she said, “I can’t do that. How can I do that?”

  “What choice do you have?”

  She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. He placed his hand on her forearm. “It’s better than begging on the streets.”

  “But after what I’ve done to bhauju.”

  The school bell rang, and the two boys made their way past Ramchandra’s table. “Having fun, sir?” Mukesh said as he walked by. Ramchandra had to get back for the next period, but this needed to be resolved.

  “The decision is yours. How much money do you have?”

  “I have only two hundred rupees.”

  “That’s not enough to rent even a room.”

  “What am I going to do? What will happen to her?” She stroked Rachana’s head.

  “So, we have no choice, then.”

  She closed her eyes again.

  “Why don’t you go to Jaisideval now? Goma will be there.”

  “What will I say to her?”

  “You don’t need to say anything to her. This was her idea.” “I’ll wait for you. I can’t face bhauju by myself.”

  “But I won’t be done until four o’clock.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll wait here.”

  Ramchandra talked to the shopkeeper and gave him some money so that Malati could stay until he’d finished his classes. He kissed her on the forehead before he left the shop. He was already fifteen minutes late.

  Bandana Miss accosted him in the hallway. “This is not good, Ramchandra Sir. Sleeping in class, and now late for class.”

  “I had urgent business to attend to.”

  “Everything is urgent, isn’t it? Who was that girl?”

  “An acquaintance.”

  “Ramchandra Sir, I’ve been hearing some things. Of all people, I would expect you—”

  “I am already late for my class. Why are you delaying me?”

  “What is your relationship with her?”

  “She’s a friend’s daughter.”

  “Let’s hope that’s true. You are a teacher. I asked you to talk to Shailendra because I thought you were a good man.”

  “Bandana Miss. Please. Keep your lecturing to yourself.” He brushed past her and walked to his classroom.

  By four o’clock it was raining. Holding a newspaper above his head, Ramchandra ran to the tea shop, where he found Malati crouched in a corner, her eyes closed and Rachana in her lap, playing with her necklace. He woke her, and she scrambled to her feet, startled. He calmed her down, led her outside. The rain was coming down harder, and they stood in the doorway. “This isn’t going to subside for a while,” the shopkeeper said. “May as well have a cup of tea.” They drank more tea and listened to the rain. Rachana started bawling, and Malati went to a corner and breast-fed her.

  The rain eventually turned into a drizzle, and they decided to move on. Ramchandra held the newspaper above Malati’s head as they walked through the puddles in the alleys toward Bir H
ospital, where he thought they’d find a three-wheeler—although part of him hoped they wouldn’t, so that he wouldn’t have to spend more money. As was always the case in bad weather, all the taxis were taken. People scurried about, either finding shelter or braving the rain to finish their errands. “Should we wait and take a bus?” Ramchandra asked her, and she shrugged. “No, this isn’t too bad. Let’s walk.”

  By the time they reached New Road, they were completely soaked. He looked at her. She was beautiful, with the rain glistening on her face. And she was young; he had to remind himself that she was indeed young, only twenty-one. She clasped his hand and asked, “Do you love me?” For a moment he thought she was crazy to ask that question at this moment, but she was watching him, waiting for an answer, and when he said, “Yes,” her eyes filled with a look that told him she knew exactly what she was doing.

  In Jaisideval, as they climbed the stairs, Malati slowed down. “Come on,” he urged her. They could hear the children’s voices as they reached the landing.

  Goma appeared at the door, the children behind her. “You could have taken a taxi,” Goma said to Ramchandra. “That baby will catch a cold.” She went into the children’s room and came back with a towel, which she wrapped around the baby, whom she lifted from Malati’s arms. “You could have simply waited for the rain to die down,” she told Ramchandra.

  He had nothing to say. This was a crazy dream from which he’d wake up at any moment.

  Malati kept looking at the floor. No one seemed to know what was to happen next. Then Goma took the baby, who had fallen asleep, into the children’s room. When she came out, she said, “Why don’t you two go inside the bedroom, and I’ll bring you some food.”

  Suddenly, Malati knelt at Goma’s feet. “Bhauju, please forgive me.”

  Goma bent down and lifted her up. “What’s the matter with you? There’s no time for this nonsense. You have to put on some dry clothes.” She asked Ramchandra where Malati’s belongings were.

  He shrugged.

  “They’re still on the porch at the house,” Malati said.

  “I’ll have my parents’ servant bring them here after you two have eaten.”