The Moneylenders of Shahpur. Helen Forrester

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СКАЧАТЬ and dutiful wife and will be amply rewarded.’

      Her aunt sniffed and looked at the ceiling; her own rewards in marriage had been few. It was unnatural, however, for a woman not to be married; and this is what came of leaving girls single too long – they became stubborn.

      Anasuyabehn covered her face with her sari and, under its comforting darkness, she saw for a moment a dark, thin face looking up at her as if enchanted. The new Zoology man was a fine man to look upon. She gave a little, shivering sigh.

      ‘Father, could you try for somebody else?’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Perhaps someone in the University.’

      ‘They’re all married.’

      Anasuyabehn tried to bring herself to the point of saying that the Professor of Zoology was not, but her courage failed her and she whispered, ‘Not all of them.’

      ‘Who isn’t?’ asked the Dean, his ire against his sister again beginning to rise.

      Aunt cackled. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen you with the other girls, making sheep’s eyes.’

      ‘Well, who?’ queried the Dean again.

      ‘The Zoology Professor!’ laughed Aunt.

      The Dean digested this information slowly. He had honestly not considered this young man, but the suggestion did not meet with much approval. Marathas were not popular in the Gujerat; thin, taut, warrior-descended, mentally agile, they were the very antithesis of Gujeratis; and this particular Maratha, with his demands for journals, for more lecture time, for a greater water supply, for a laboratory assistant, was already proving a bane to the worthy, but slow-moving Dean.

      Meanwhile, Anasuyabehn stared unbelievingly at her aunt, marvelling at her powers of observation; she tended to think of her as part of the furniture, a necessary encumbrance, without life in herself.

      Her fears redoubled.

      Very quickly, Aunt loosed the deadliest shaft she possessed.

      ‘A man who kills and cuts up animals,’ she said.

      Dean Mehta stared at her, horrified, his worst fears realized.

      ‘No!’ he exclaimed.

      ‘Oh, yes. The mother of one of his students told me.’

      ‘I must see him about it,’ he muttered.

      Making a great effort to be calm and firm, he turned to Anasuyabehn. ‘A young man about whom we know so little would not be suitable, child. I would prefer you to marry a Gujerati, at least.’

      Anasuyabehn nearly burst with rage at her aunt, and was about to explode verbally, when her little servant boy slid into the room.

      ‘The young Desai Sahib is here,’ he said to Dean Mehta. ‘He’s sitting on the front veranda.’

      Anasuyabehn’s rage gave way to panic; she sprang to her feet as if to fly.

      Her father and aunt got up immediately, and her father said kindly, ‘Don’t be afraid, child. Would you like to see him?’

      ‘No!’ said Anasuyabehn fervently, while her aunt exploded, ‘Tush, what are things coming to?’

      ‘All right,’ said the Dean a little testily, and, turning to the servant, he told him to bring Mahadev into the living-room.

      Anasuyabehn fled to the kitchen veranda, picked up a basket tray full of millet which she had been cleaning earlier, and began feverishly to pick the small bits of stone and the insects out of it. When she was sure all the insects were out and carefully deposited over the side of the veranda, she tossed the grain up and down on the tray to bring to the edge any other impurities. She picked these out and then emptied the millet into a shopping bag.

      ‘Bhai,’ she called to the servant, ‘take this to the miller.’ Her voice still shook, but she had gained some comfort from her domestic task.

      The boy shouted that he was making tea for the Sahib, and she waited quietly until he had finished and had taken the tea to the study.

      He came slowly back to her, his bare feet dragging, and took the bag from her. He did not leave her at once. He stood first on one foot and then on the other, his grubby face as woebegone as Anasuyabehn’s. In the moment or two he had been in the study his world had crumbled; from the conversation he knew that Anasuyabehn, whom he loved as much as his mother, far away in his native village, was going to marry the terrifying Mahadev Desai. He was only ten, and he could not visualize life in a house which held only a tart, old lady and an absent-minded old gentleman.

      ‘Well?’ asked Anasuyabehn.

      ‘Bahin, are you really going to be married?’

      Anasuyabehn nearly choked, as sobs rose in her and were hastily crushed down.

      The boy looked frightened, and she took his hand and pulled him to her. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘But you mustn’t worry. Your work will be here just the same.’

      He was not satisfied; a child’s instinct to sense trouble was with him, and he feared change.

      ‘Can I come with you to serve in Desai Sahib’s house?’

      ‘I don’t know, boy. I will ask. Do you want to come?’

      The boy fell to his knees and touched her feet. He would have lifted her foot and touched his head with it, but she restrained him. Such devotion from so small a person hurt her. ‘My cup is full,’ her heart cried. ‘My cup is full.’

      ‘There,’ she said comfortingly. ‘If the marriage is finally arranged, I’ll ask the Sahib. Go and get the clean shopping bag, to put the flour in – and remember to feel the flour as it comes out of the chute. Last time you brought back half of someone else’s rubbish which was already in the machine. The miller is a rogue.’

      Her gay tone made the boy laugh. He crammed his round, black cap on to his head and was soon on his way.

      Anasuyabehn sat stonily on the veranda. The first panic had ebbed from her and she felt tired and exhausted. Furthermore, she had no idea what to do. She was no fool; she knew that by worldly standards an alliance with the Desais was desirable; the difference in caste troubled her not at all – she had gone to school with many different castes – but the possible Bania orthodoxy of the Desais’ home life did. It was an orthodoxy which forbade more than a minimum of communion between husband and wife, judged success in life by the amount of money buried in the floors of the house and regarded its acquisition as a religious duty.

      Then there was Tilak, whose burning, narrowed eyes sought her out from among the other women at the tea parties and badminton parties given by the University staff, so that she blushed and had to put her sari up over her head to hide her confusion.

      In angry revolt against her father’s wishes, her tired mind sought frantically for a solution. She could become a nun, she considered desperately, and gain universal respect thereby – but the Jain religion offers little of true comfort for a woman.

      She СКАЧАТЬ