‘Ramu,’ he continued, pressing Ramu’s arms with gratitude, ‘Ramu, I cannot tell you how I. . love you. O, how happy I would be to see you one day an Assistant Commissioner with a dozen servants and half a dozen clerks. Yes, Ramu, I would weep with joy. I would be happier still to find you with a beautiful wife, sweet, tender and obedient, clothed in a Dharmawar sari and adorned with diamond earrings, sapphire and ruby necklaces, and a half-seer gold belt to complete it all. If I were you, my son, I would marry now, this very moment, so that I should have a home to live in while in Bangalore, and a wife ready to live with when you will be an Assistant Commissioner in four or five years’ time. I would, if I were you!’ He smiled almost ecstatically. Ramu thought: After all, perhaps the old man is right. Old men are always so full of ripe wisdom. . Why not marry? Sofas. . Hot coffee. . Electric light. . But. . if the future should turn out to be dark and treacherous! To live a life of misery. . Jayalakshmi was right.
‘I would have married if I were you,’ continued Nanjundayya. ‘Listen to the words of an old man. My son, there’s nothing like timely marriage. To marry at nineteen, to have nuptials at twenty-one, and to have a child at twenty-two or twenty-three, that is the ideal, the ancient, infallible ideal. Nothing like it. Listen, Ramu, suppose you begin thinking of it. And I assure you, for the sweet memory of your esteemed father, I would do anything to get you a suitable father-in-law. You have only to say yes, and you will see in ten days’ time everything will be settled. I do not say this to flatter myself. But I must tell you that there are few families in Bangalore that I do not know, and in all of them I am treated with consideration and love. And at this very moment I know of at least fifteen mothers who would fall at your feet and call you their god and offer their daughters in marriage to you. Well, Ramu, my son? What do you think of it?’ Would he accept? Should he? To be married to a rich man’s daughter? But no. He had to be patient. He had to think over it. For the moment the best thing would be to refuse.
‘No,’ he said softly, respectfully, ‘no, not for the moment. I am going home in a few days, and when I am back I shall have decided one way or the other. In any case, for the present let me say no.’ Home! He was sure never to speak about it to anybody. But why did Jayalakshmi come into his mind suddenly? Surely he was not going to ask her opinion of it. Her brilliant, mocking smile came back with cruel precision. Why did she stick to him? He had never cared for her. He had never asked her to be friends with him. No! No! The sooner he decided to drop her the better. These modern girls are so dangerous. But something in him revolted and affirmed itself with terrible softness. A luminous feeling filled his being. Warmth. . peace. . harmony. . Jayalakshmi.
‘Well, Ramu, my son,’ went on Nanjundayya with indefatigable patience, ‘anyway, I shall look for a suitable bride for you. And when you are back you will tell me your decision. There’s no hurry — not the least. You understand, my son. This poor Nanjundayya will always be the same old chap, tender, generous and paternal, and he only wishes one thing, and that is Ramu’s happiness.’ His lips trembled, and his eyelids gently closed with emotion.
‘May your blessings be on me. I promise you again, I will think it over.’
They had now finished their coffee. Nanjundayya went to the counter, paid the bill, and joined Ramu on the steps. Ramu was happy to be going home. He was glad of the treat, but now he had to go and work. So, turning to Nanjundayya, he said, ‘Well, when shall we see each other next?’
‘Why, Ramu!’ exclaimed Nanjundayya anxiously, ‘surely you do not want to disappear so soon! I want so much to take you home and show you to my wife and children. You must see them, my son, you must.’
‘Please do excuse me, do. I shall surely come and see you before I leave for Hariharapura. But not today. . ’
Nanjundayya looked embarrassed. What the devil could one do with such a boy?
‘Anyhow,’ he said after a moment’s reflection, ‘you go by Dodpet, don’t you? I go the same way. So can we go together?’
‘Most willingly,’ answered Ramu amiably, and they hurried along the busy Chickpet. When they were at the Dodpet corner, Nanjundayya suddenly stopped, his hand upon his forehead, looking irritated, restless and confused.
‘My son, my son,’ he cried out helplessly, ‘I am awfully sorry. I had completely forgotten that I had an engagement at six with a friend. I am really sorry. Would you mind coming with me for a few minutes — just here, in the Potter’s Street — and I will see you home? Unless. . ’
‘Of course I can do that,’ answered Ramu. But what a curse!
They walked on silently for some time. Nanjundayya still looked greatly annoyed, and now and again he would unconsciously stop for a few seconds as though thinking over something, and suddenly turn to Ramu, force a smile and ask to be excused for this irritating delay. He had lost his vigorous gesticulations and his bubbling gaiety. But Ramu was much too lost in his examination worries to think about the old man’s moods. They were soon in the New Market Square, and slipping through one of the side streets, they arrived in a narrow, quiet lane.
‘Thank God!’ exclaimed Nanjundayya, ‘we are out of that noise and stink. Well, Ramu, you are going to see one of my very best friends. Vishweshwarayya was a class-fellow of mine. From an ordinary constable he rose to be the Director-General of Police, all by sheer intelligence and courage. You will see for yourself what a simple, generous, unassuming man he is. He simply loves me. He does!’ Nanjundayya’s enthusiasm seemed less brilliant and he spoke in a mechanical staccato. ‘He retired some years ago, and now what do you think, Ramu, he is one of the richest and most powerful men in this city. He has four sons-in-law, and all in responsible posts, entirely due to his influence. There is no Minister, Ramu, there is, I tell you, no Minister who does not go to consult him and ask his advice on the most important affairs of the State. . And yet you will see what an honest, respectful and loving man he is. . ’ Ramu was a little tired of all this. He was thinking of his room, books and examinations. But the old man continued, ‘You will see all that for yourself. I’m sure you will.’
They slipped again into a smaller lane and were soon in a narrow square, where among mud-walled houses there rose a two-storeyed bungalow, with a balcony, curtained windows and a large garden of mango and guava trees.
‘That is the house,’ said Nanjundayya, pointing towards the bungalow. ‘You will see how very fashionably it is furnished. All in modern style; All. . ’ They were at the gate. Nanjundayya opened the door as though it were his own house. And when they were halfway up the main drive, Vishweshwarayya himself came down to meet them. He was tall, and his navy-blue suit in European style shone like sapphire with the evening sun. He had a very amiable smile upon his face and his voice was deep, deferential. Thanking Ramu for having honoured him with this visit, he led them to the drawing-room. Nanjundayya was silent now, and looked more annoyed than ever. What after all was this, thought Ramu. But Vishweshwarayya kept him so busy with questions — what subjects he had chosen for his degree, where he lived, and how long he intended to stay in Bangalore — that Ramu had hardly any time to think. Somehow he felt uneasy. Besides, this beautiful drawing-room in European-style lamp-shades with birds on them, vases with artificial flowers, velveteen carpets on the floor, and magnificent gilt-framed pictures of the English countryside — all this so bewildered him that he felt confused and lost. Suddenly the door opened, and a charming girl of eleven or twelve, dressed in a gorgeous Dharmawar sari of blue and gold, entered with a silver plate full of fruits and cakes and glasses of coffee, and placing it on the table by Ramu, went and sat between her father and Nanjundayya, her hands upon her knees, shyly, awkwardly. There was a crammed silence. Nanjundayya, who had been silent so long, turned dramatically towards Ramu, and roared with victorious laughter. He had won. Ramu sat on his chair, his hairs on end, and feverish with indomitable hatred. Immediately he remembered the cat at the window. It licked its feet, and with quiet, sinuous movements, lifting up the head, glowered at him and fell on the autumn leaves below. In the neighbouring room, his fat landlord, with a large tummy and one eye, sneezed. Once. . Twice?. . No. . Fallen into the trap, thought Ramu. Yes! he had. Would he marry the girl?