The Marriage Bureau for Rich People

by Farahad Zama

  ‘I hope so, sir. He doesn’t have any daughters of his own and I’ve always been his favourite niece. Let’s see what happens,’ Sridevi said.

  ‘Good luck - both with your uncle and this match. We’ll put it in the post tomorrow morning, so you should get it by Tuesday or Wednesday.’

  Mr Ali put the phone down and said to Aruna, ‘Let us send her the list. Circle Venu’s details with a red pen.’

  Aruna nodded and took out an envelope. ‘What about Venu? Shall we send him Sridevi’s details too?’

  Mr Ali thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I know we normally do that, but let us leave it to Sridevi. I don’t want to impose on her. Let her make the first move, if she wants. She can always contact us if she doesn’t want to talk to him directly. But, write that at the bottom of the list. Say that we aren’t sending her details to Venu and it is up to her to initiate contact if she wants.’

  On Monday morning, Aruna and her mother got up early as usual and made pulihora - yellow tamarind rice, spiced with ginger and red chillies.

  Vani came into the kitchen just as Aruna was mixing the spicy paste into the rice. She watched Aruna working for a moment and then asked, ‘Why do we always make pulihora for picnics?’

  ‘The sour tamarind helps keep the rice from getting spoilt in the heat,’ said their mother, looking back from the stove where she was frying some boorulu - round, lentil sweets with a sweet jaggery centre. ‘Vani,’ she added, ‘pack a bunch of bananas and bottles of water. Remember, not all the bananas are for you to eat. Some of them are a gift to the deity at the temple.’

  ‘OK, amma,’ said Vani.

  They were ready by eight thirty, but did not leave until after nine, because they wanted the morning rush hour to reduce. They took a local bus to the main bus stand where they changed to the bus going to Simhachalam. The conductor came up to them and Aruna bought a ticket. Vani showed her student pass.

  The bus made its way out of the terminus and into the busy traffic outside. It took several minutes to negotiate the first junction, but after that the journey was relatively smooth. It made its way round Diamond Park, then past Sankar Matham - a temple devoted to Shiva - and finally reached the highway that ran along the foot of the mountain range. By this time the bus was quite full and so many people were standing that Aruna couldn’t see across the aisle to the other side.

  ‘We are lucky that we boarded the bus at its starting point. Otherwise, we would have had to stand up,’ said Aruna.

  Vani nodded.

  The bus turned south on the highway and sped towards the temple town, keeping the mountain range on the right-hand side and the city on the left. Half an hour later the stops became much less frequent as they left the city. Aruna was wearing her new sari and sitting by the window. She held up the dark green border of the sari across her face to shade herself from the sun, which was already very fierce. The open windows kept the bus cool, if dusty, when it was moving; the interior became stifling hot when it stopped. Aruna and Vani chatted about some of Mr Ali’s customers and their demands, and about some of Vani’s classmates.

  Vani said, ‘You know, we never finished stitching the zigzag pattern on the blue sari that I was going to wear for your wedding. It’s still lying on the top shelf of the wardrobe.’

  Aruna grimaced and Vani apologised.

  Aruna said, ‘No, don’t be sorry. Those flowers are faded and on the rubbish heap now. There’s no point in remembering their fragrance.’

  Vani looked at her with big eyes and held her hand tightly for a moment. The girls exchanged sad smiles and felt really close to each other as only two sisters can.

  The bus stopped. Initially, Aruna did not pay any attention and continued talking to Vani. After a while, they stopped talking and realised that all conversation on the bus had slowly died. People started craning their necks, trying to figure out what had happened.

  After a few minutes, those who were standing started getting out. Once the bus was clear of standing passengers, a man came walking down the aisle asking everybody for their tickets. Through the windows, Aruna saw two more inspectors checking the tickets of all the standing passengers who were now milling about the roadside by the bus.

  When the inspector came to their seats, Aruna showed her ticket and Vani her student pass. The man returned Aruna’s ticket, but instead of returning Vani’s pass, he called out to somebody. Another inspector came over and the first inspector showed him the pass. Aruna and Vani looked at each other quizzically. Vani shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Any problem?’ Vani asked the men.

  The first inspector turned back to her and said, ‘Yes, you are travelling without a ticket.’

  ‘What do you mean? I have my pass.’

  ‘The student pass is not valid for travel outside the city limits,’ said the inspector.

  ‘Oh! I didn’t know that. How much is the ticket? I’ll buy one,’ Vani said.

  ‘Too late now,’ said the man curtly. ‘You have to pay a fine.’

  ‘Fine? I told you I didn’t know that the pass was not valid outside the city limits,’ said Vani.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. You have to pay the fine.’

  Vani looked as if she was going to protest; Aruna put a hand over her sister’s and silenced her. ‘How much is the fine?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. That will have to be decided by the magistrate,’ said the man. He seemed to be enjoying discomfiting the girls.

  ‘What?’ said Vani, her eyes widening. ‘Magistrate?’

  ‘We have a travelling magistrate with us. Come on, girls, get out.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Nothing doing. Will you get out by yourselves or should I call the police? We have some lady police as well.’

  Aruna and Vani looked at each other and got up slowly. Vani held the bag of food in one hand and clutched her purse in the other. Aruna held her handbag across her chest. They were marched down and held separately from the others. The hot sun beat down on them. Aruna covered her head with the edge of her sari. Vani was wearing her churidar - a long top in soft chiffon down to her knees and matching tight trousers with a dupatta, a long, thin piece of cloth over her chest, with the ends trailing over her shoulders. Aruna pointed at it and Vani used one end to cover her head. Aruna was conscious of the men and women from the bus staring at them.

  Suddenly, a young man broke into a run. The inspectors shouted and the two constables with the inspectors raised their lathis but the man dodged them and escaped. Soon, everybody’s tickets had been checked and the people outside got back onto the bus.

  We’ve lost our seats, thought Aruna.

  The bus’s engine growled to life and it suddenly moved forward.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Vani, raising her hand as if to physically stop the bus, but it was too late. The bus picked up speed and went off in a cloud of diesel smoke and dust. The girls turned to the inspectors - they were the only passengers left. There was another bus waiting a hundred yards away and they were asked to walk to it. When they entered the bus, Aruna gasped in surprise. Most of the seats at the back had been taken away and the interior had been converted into a mobile courtroom. There was a comfortable seat where a man in black robes - the magistrate, presumably - was sitting and in front of him was a prisoner’s dock. There were some police constables sitting in the bus, including a couple of women constables.

  Aruna and Vani walked towards the magistrate and Vani was asked to stand in the defendant’s dock. She had been quite strong until then, but her lower lip trembled as she moved to the dock. Aruna’s heart went out to her little sister.

  The inspector who had checked their tickets came forward and said, ‘This girl was travelling without a ticket, sir.’

  The magistrate looked bored. ‘What’s your name, girl?’ he asked.

  ‘Vani, sir.’

  ‘Your father’s name?’

  ‘Mr Somayajulu, sir. Retired school teacher.’

&n
bsp; The magistrate wrote the details down in front of him. ‘Is the ticket inspector correct? Did you not have a ticket?’ he asked her.

  ‘No, sir. I have a pass—’ began Vani.

  The ticket inspector interrupted. ‘Sir, her pass is not valid outside the city limits. She was travelling without a valid ticket.’

  The magistrate raised his eyebrows at Vani. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘I didn’t . . .’ began Vani.

  The magistrate banged his gavel and Vani fell silent. ‘Guilty,’ he said. ‘The fine is one hundred and fifty rupees.’

  ‘But, sir,’ protested Vani.

  The magistrate raised his hand. ‘The fine can go up to three hundred. You are a young girl who has made a mistake and your father was a school teacher and that’s why I have given you such a low fine. Please pay the cashier on the way out.’

  He turned to the police officer next to him and said, ‘This place is no good. Let’s try Gajuwaka; we’ll catch more people there.’

  Aruna looked through her purse for the money. She discovered to her horror that she didn’t have much cash. She remembered that she had paid for the rice earlier in the week and had not topped up her purse. She took out all the money and counted it. She had one hundred and thirty rupees. She looked through the purse again and found a five-rupee coin.

  She asked Vani in a low voice, ‘Do you have any cash?’

  Vani opened her eyes wide and went through her purse. ‘Twenty-five rupees,’ she said, giving the money to her sister.

  ‘Good. At least we can pay off the fine.’

  Vani and Aruna went to the cashier. He was sitting near the door with a cash box in front of him. Aruna paid the money and the cashier put it away. Aruna continued standing there.

  ‘Yes?’ snapped the cashier, irritated.

  ‘I am waiting for a receipt,’ said Aruna.

  ‘Receipt?’ he asked, blankly.

  ‘Yes,’ Aruna said calmly. Her father had told her to always ask for a receipt when she paid any money to a government official.

  The man sighed and took out the receipt book, put a carbon paper underneath the first slip and filled it out. He tore the original out of the book and gave it to Aruna with ill grace.

  Vani turned to the inspector next to the door and said, ‘This place is in the middle of nowhere. Can you give us a lift to the nearest bus stop?’

  ‘No. We don’t carry passengers,’ said the man curtly and shooed them out of the bus. As they were getting down, Aruna heard him muttering, ‘Wants a receipt and a lift.’

  The sisters stood in the hot sun and watched forlornly as the mobile court revved its engine and vanished.

  ‘What shall we do now?’ asked Vani.

  Aruna had been wondering the same thing. The checkpoint had been established halfway between two stops. They were miles from both the city and the temple.

  In the city, Mr Ali finally convinced his wife to leave the bedroom. They both sat at the dining table and Mr Ali said, ‘Let’s go to Azhar’s house.’

  ‘I don’t want to go anywhere,’ said Mrs Ali.

  ‘You can’t just stay cooped up here. You have hardly come out of the bedroom for three days. It will do you good to get out,’ said Mr Ali.

  ‘No, just leave me alone. I don’t want to meet anybody,’ said Mrs Ali.

  ‘You have to let go of these things,’ said Mr Ali.

  ‘I thought today was Monday,’ said Mrs Ali.

  ‘Yes, today is Monday. So?’ asked Mr Ali.

  ‘So it means that Aruna is not in today. Don’t you have to mind the office?’ said Mrs Ali.

  ‘That’s OK. It’ll do us both good to get out of the house. Let’s go,’ said Mr Ali.

  Mrs Ali sighed. ‘I know where our son gets his bloody-mindedness from. Once either of you gets a thought in your head, there’s no talking you out of it.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about Rehman. He’s a foolish boy who won’t listen to his parents and that’s just a burden that we have to bear,’ said Mr Ali.

  Mrs Ali got up and said, ‘All right, let me get ready.’

  In the fertile coastal plains of South India, nowhere is really far from some habitation or other. Aruna pointed to a hamlet a little way away. The sisters walked towards the palm-leaf thatched huts. They picked their way along the side of the road, through the dust mixed with dried-up stalks of rice plants and crushed sugar cane. The sun was a white ball of heat in the cloudless sky. The trees on the edge of the road all had white circular bands painted on them, showing that they belonged to the roads department. Aruna and Vani walked in the shadows of these trees towards the little collection of huts. Vani pointed out a palm tree - its thin straight trunk was notched at intervals to make it easy to climb and a clay pot was tied to the top of the tree.

  Aruna looked at the pot and said, ‘Toddy.’

  Vani nodded.

  Tappers cut the flower of the palm tree and tie a pot to the stump. Sweet, cooling sap called neeru oozes from the cut and collects in the pot. Aruna knew that while fresh neeru is delicious and nutritious, it is almost always fermented and turned into the strong country liquor called arrack that many villagers and poor people drink.

  They reached the hamlet. One of the huts was a café selling tea and snacks. It had a long wooden bench along its side and the girls made their way to it. It was a relief to get out of the sun - the palm-leaf thatch and the cow-dung polished floor kept the heat out and a cool breeze blew in through the open sides of the hut. An old woman could be seen in the darkest part of the hut.

  Aruna called out to her, ‘Baamma, can we sit here for a while?’

  The old woman waved her hand, giving them permission. The girls sat down on the bench and the old woman came out of the interior. Her skin was wrinkled and dark and she wore a faded cotton sari of indeterminate colour, a tattoo that had faded green looked like an armband on her right hand. She wore the sari in the fashion of poor, lower-caste women in villages - without a blouse; the leading edge of the sari was draped over her sagging breasts. Aruna could see that she was a widow - she wore no jewellery and there was no sindoor on her forehead.

  ‘Hello, ladies. Would you like some tea?’ she asked, taking a homemade cigar out of her mouth to speak. One of her eyes was cloudy and she cocked her head at an angle to keep them in view of the other eye.

  ‘No, Baamma. The inspectors claimed we were travelling without tickets and took most of our money as a fine. We only have ten rupees and we will need the money to get back home,’ said Aruna.

  ‘These government people - they put on a uniform and the power goes to their heads. How can they leave two young ladies like you stranded? Don’t they have sisters or mothers?’ said the old woman. ‘Don’t worry about the money. A couple of glasses of tea won’t beggar me.’

  She went to the stove and poured them two glasses of tea from the constantly boiling pot.

  Vani looked very doubtful about drinking from the none too clean glasses but Aruna flashed her eyes at her sister and took a sip. Vani reluctantly lifted her glass.

  ‘If you want to call anybody, Seenu over there runs a phone,’ the old lady said, pointing with her hand.

  ‘That’s a good idea, Baamma,’ said Aruna. She turned to Vani and asked, ‘Whom shall we call? Do you know any numbers?’

  ‘One of my classmates would come if we called him. He also carries a cell phone with him all the time, but I don’t know the number,’ said Vani.

  ‘Let me try Mr Ali. Sir will definitely find a way to rescue us,’ said Aruna.

  She put the glass of tea down on the bench next to her and got up. Two huts away in the direction pointed by the old woman, there was a large yellow PTT sign. Aruna walked up to it and said to the young man sitting on a plastic chair, ‘I want to make a call.’

  The young man twisted in his chair and picked up the handset and gave it to her. ‘Go ahead, madam. Local or STD?’

  ‘Vizag,’ she said, noticing that the young man was crippled - one of his
legs was shrivelled by polio.

  ‘That is local, madam.’

  Aruna dialled Mr Ali’s number which she knew by heart. The phone rang and rang but nobody picked it up. She put the handset down and tried again. There was still no answer. Aruna put the phone back in its cradle and stood pensively, biting her lower lip. She didn’t know what to do. After a few seconds, she sighed and opened her bag to take out her purse. ‘How much is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing, madam. Nobody answered, so you don’t have to pay,’ said Seenu.

  As she was closing her bag, Aruna noticed a white card and took it out. Aruna’s heart beat rapidly as she looked at Ramanujam’s visiting card. It had his cell-phone number. Did she dare call him? She looked furtively to where Vani was sitting - but her sister was out of her direct line of sight. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, Ramanujam’s name seemed to be in a larger font, standing out from the card. She turned to Seenu and said in a low voice, ‘Let me try one more number.’

  She dialled Ramanujam’s cell phone. As the phone rang, she wasn’t sure what she wanted - did she want him to pick up the phone or not? After the fourth ring, she cut the connection. She knew that cell phones automatically went to voicemail if the owner did not answer. She did not want to waste money on a call if she couldn’t speak to Ramanujam directly.

  She shrugged at Seenu and said, ‘I will try again in a little while.’

  Seenu grinned at her, showing his white teeth. ‘No problem, madam. I am not going anywhere.’

  Aruna turned away, her disappointment temporarily forgotten. She wondered how a young man who could not walk, stuck in this small place, remained cheerful. She ducked out of the sun and went back into the old woman’s hut to sit next to Vani. Her sister looked at her expectantly and Aruna shook her head. Vani’s face fell.

  Aruna said, ‘Sir and madam must have gone out somewhere.’

  Vani said, ‘I wonder how long we will be stranded here.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Aruna picked up her by-now cold tea and took a sip. The old woman started telling them her story. Aruna discovered that she was not that old - in fact, she was younger than her own mother. She and her husband had owned a small piece of land near the Sarada river. The land was fertile, she had given birth to a son and life was good. She had become pregnant again and was expecting her second baby in a couple of months when tragedy struck. The Sarada river that had given them their prosperity turned on them with a fury and a raging flood suddenly engulfed their house one night. Her husband helped her and their son climb on their big wooden trunk and hold on to the rafters of their house. He then went out to untie their cow. For two days she was stuck there until the waters receded; she was barely alive, her son had died at some point during the two days and her husband had disappeared. The cow was gone and the crop had washed away. The government and various charities provided relief for a few weeks and then hunger set in. She was heavily pregnant and needed to eat for two, but she had not enough food even to sustain herself.