From one feeling weary because of you, still not free from hatred, searching for a way out—
Dinakar’
Then he thought of all his other lovers and began writing short notes to them.
‘Dear Sudarshini,
I never loved you wholeheartedly. You too did not fully love me. But we were eager to conquer each other.
I remember seeing you one day, humming to yourself, sitting alone and looking inwards. In such moments I see the possibility that you may be released from bhava.
Dinakar’
‘Dear Priti,
Your desire for me grew from the fear that your youth was fading. And I, always curious in the beginning about every woman, came together with you. But later I began to search for ways to escape from you. Yet I held you to me through some illusion of love. That's because, like you, I am lonely.
Now I believe that you pretended to enjoy sex with me even when you didn't, because you wanted to cheat yourself. Forgive me for pretending to believe that you were happy. I remember one day you carefully removed the jasmine from your braid and placed the flowers on a green leaf. With your fingers, you delicately sprinkled water, the right amount, with loving tenderness. You were not aware that I, in wonderment, was watching you do this. Remembering this now brings hope that some good will come to us from that moment.
Desiring desirelessness, and realizing that it can't be got by desiring it,
Yours,
Dinakar’
‘Dear Mamata,
You never allowed me to see you naked.
But one day as you quickly removed your clothes to get under the blanket, I saw a white patch on your thigh. I knew that it was not leprosy, but you feared I might think so. Your liberation might lie in the leucoderma itself, even if it spreads all over your body. May God give you strength to face it.
You made many sacrifices for me. You accepted all my other lovers without envy.
I was never truly excited by you. It was feelings of compassion that united us.
Praying for you,
Dinakar’
He put all the letters that he had written into envelopes, thinking that he would write still more letters the next day — to one in Lucknow, to another in Allahabad, to another in Kuwait, to yet another whom he had been trying to seduce and who had been putting him off to make the desire more delicious — a reporter for a Delhi paper. Perhaps there was no use in sending the letter to Mahamata, who hardly had time to breathe. He stepped out of the house to go in search of a mailbox.
Sitamma called to him and said, ‘As soon as you finish walking, take a bath and eat your food. I'm going to make dosa for you today. I don't know what time my great son will get up. He has court today. He found the affection and concern in her voice very pleasant.
21
Narayan, on his way to take a bath, came to Dinakar's room and closed the door. Then he said, ‘I do not know what to do.’
The previous night Narayan had come in drunk, awakened his son, and told him of his resolve to marry Gangu. He had reassured Gopal that he would sign over all his property to him. ‘But my great son danced about in fury, shouting, “Why should I have been a son to such a father?”’
Gopal had also abused Gangu, who had brought him up, calling her an avaricious prostitute, and he cursed Prasad as a hypocritical sanyasi. Then he beat his head against the wall and screamed, ‘How can I stay in such a house?’ Nothing of this tantrum was heard in Dinakar's small room upstairs.
But Sitamma had heard the outburst. She had gone to her grandson, consoled him, and told her son Narayan, ‘First get this boy married. He may be worried that no one will give him a daughter in marriage. Let his election madness also be over. Whatever he is, isn't he your son? Like his father, this little one wants to become a municipal president and strut about.’
Dinakar was surprised that, in the early morning, Sitamma had been sitting as if unaware of the previous night's outburst. He said to Narayan, ‘Your mother is truly a mahamata. She stays in this world, caring for everyone, yet without being entangled with anyone.’
Now, on a flat iron griddle big enough to make four dosas, Sitamma was shaping batter, adding a little ghee, turning the dosas over to make them crisp, and when they were nearly ready, applying a little red chutney, filling them with potato and onion mixture, folding them, then lifting them off neatly and placing them directly on the leaf-plate. More green chilli chutney was served on the side. So her cooking too was devoted to God, and in the perfection of her dosas Dinakar saw the same dexterity of hand which had made the nine triangles meet in sacred unity.
Hoping that, if he spoke English, his mother would not recognize his distress, Narayan said to Dinakar, ‘My son Gopal, who I am certain was born to me and who has legitimate status, I do not feel is my son at all.’
Having said this, Narayan changed the topic out of a kind of delicacy, sensing that what he would otherwise go on to say might embarrass his friend. He turned the question into one of having a common personal law for the whole country, and waited for Dinakar's opinion. Having already eaten two masala dosas at Sitamma's urging, Dinakar — after more urging — began to eat a crispy plain dosa. Then Chandrappa's voice was heard calling ‘Amma!’ Sitamma, who was about to serve a dosa to her son, brought it instead to the backyard on a banana leaf. After serving it to Chandrappa, she came in.
‘Chandrappa asked whether Gangu should come here to see lawyer or go to his office in the city,’ she said. ‘I told him, “Let her come here at least for a moment, even if she has not taken a bath. Then she could also have hot dosa. Isn't it a holiday for her today, and doesn't she always make gruel for everyone in her house?” Since it would anyhow take time to make gruel, I asked her to come here. She can also bring dosas for all of them. Anyway,’ she continued to Narayan, ‘what is your big hurry? The office is always there, you can reach half an hour later. I don't know why my royal grandson hasn't come for his food yet. The little one is always at the phone and forgets to eat.’
So, speaking in her sprightly manner, she went inside to see if there was enough batter for Gangu's dosas and, seeing that there was enough and more, she lowered the stove's flame and asked Narayan, ‘Shall I give you another?’ Gratified when he belched in satisfaction, she went to the backyard to speak to Chandrappa. But Chandrappa had already left, having thrown the used leaf-plate into the bin outside.
22
Gangu, in another of her beautiful saris with matching glass bangles, and wearing jasmine in her long braided hair, looked fresh from her bath. Sitamma served her dosas in a separate dining room kept for Narayan's friends who were not orthodox. After finishing the dosas, Gangu threw the leaf outside, and although she had been told it was unnecessary to purify the eating-place with cow-dung and water, Gangu nonetheless cleansed the place where she had sat and eaten, and then went upstairs to meet Narayan.