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  ‘Or could it have been when I visited the houses of my classmates?’ He remembered that Gangu used to tell him, ‘You may become bored being with me always. Take some time for yourself, go and wander about and then come back. I will be waiting.’

  ‘Perhaps when Gangu became pregnant and confessed to Narayan about her affair with me, he suffered in the same way I am suffering now,’ Dinakar thought. ‘Like me, he must have searched his memory, wondering when she made love with me without him ever knowing. If he dwells on the details of my lovemaking and I think of the details of his lovemaking, how can he or I ever cross over and realize the illusion of samsara? On the contrary, we keep on lusting feverishly. Searching, questioning, we chew the same stuff and regurgitate like a cow that chews its cud, swallowing it over and over again. Until we love another woman, we keep wandering like wraiths.’

  Even as he thought this, Dinakar became aroused and again desired Gangu, wanting her even if it meant deceiving his friend. He thought of her years ago, gasping, getting him into her urgently, in the secretive darkness. When he had seen her come down the stairs just now, her middle-aged beauty had stirred him, got him vibrating with pleasure. She had been his first lover, she had made the pleasure of woman bloom for him and had remained in him like a fragrance. Thinking of this, he sighed, feeling sure that for him there would be no liberation from bhava. The sigh was not of sorrow, but of weariness. Of desire which had begun to wither.

  Narayan, released from his lawyerly self, began to speak again. And again Dinakar listened and suffered, as if he were dreaming in the cool moonlight on the clean white sands of the beach.

  16

  * * *

  ‘Gangu's son is named Prasad. Since we didn't know whose son he was, we called him the prasad of Hardwar.’

  Narayan spoke half-jokingly, reaching out to include Dinakar. There was in him a touch of urbane courtesy, as if—even after twenty-five years—he were asking, ‘Do you approve of the name?’ Dinakar respected Narayan for this, and felt that his friend had gone beyond him. But what Narayan went on to say pushed him into a sorrow that would remain with him.

  ‘Until Prasad was five years old, Gangu and I would meet in her house secretly, without any anxiety. Chandrappa was our protector. When she and I were together, he would be breaking logs outside the gate, or drawing water from the well for the flower garden. If anyone came and asked for her, he would say, “Gangu not there.” It used to pain me that this dull-wit could comprehend so much. I do not know what Gangu felt about it. How could we ever repay Chandrappa?

  ‘As Prasad grew, so did our anxieties. Our lovemaking became a matter of haste. It seemed to me that she always wanted it to be over quickly. And since she was eager for it to be over as soon as possible, my attention got distracted. I also thought of you. How, after taking your pleasure, there was no need for you to have anything more to do with Gangu. You had become invisible for us. But because of Prasad, you stayed in my mind.

  ‘As Prasad grew older, he became unhappy because the other children at school made fun of him. My son Gopal also seemed discontented. Although he had grown up under Gangu's care, if she came to see him, he would get irritable. He became quiet only if my mother rebuked him. And it made me uneasy, thinking that I was leading an immoral life using my mother's protection. But such guilt leads nowhere. We don't get liberated from maya by such feelings. Anyhow, as I became well known, everyone accepted me. My relations with Gangu became a secret that everyone knew.

  ‘Yet I stopped going to meet her when Prasad was at home. Gradually, it became more and more difficult to make love discreetly. This has been so for the past ten years. It is far more than ten years now since we have been able to meet without strain, because one day Prasad openly said to his mother, “Let him marry you if he is my father.” Somehow I could not take that step, and I suffered because of it. But what is the use of such suffering?

  ‘Prasad stopped going to school. He would sit moodily in the house. Gangu had done well as a teacher, but she too began to suffer, keeping her son's unhappiness in her belly. Yet nothing changes if we groan, we just keep on groaning. And how could she ever leave me?

  ‘Then everything changed when Prasad started to learn music. He developed and got better. But he wouldn't sing to just anyone, though when he comes to our house, he always sings bhajans for my mother. He wouldn't sing even to his own mother. And if I came anywhere near him, he would stop singing.

  ‘The mystery was that he would sit in his own room and sing for hours before Chandrappa. And Chandrappa, whom we thought a dumb animal, would listen for hours, sitting in front of Prasad with his mouth hanging open. Before and after singing, Prasad would bow to Chandrappa and to his tamboura.

  ‘But all along Prasad must have been developing vairagya. He even began to seem tolerant of me. If he smiled at me I would be happy the whole day, forgetting all the irritations that Gopal caused me. Prasad looked exactly like the holy sage Shuka, as my mother also said. His serene eyes, long beard, hair falling onto his shoulders, the white clothes— dhoti and dhotra—in these he looked just like a young sage. I would think, “He is nobody's son, he is God's son,” and feel at peace.

  ‘But this morning something happened. Prasad went and stood before his mother and asked, “Who am I?”

  ‘Gangu said that her eyes filled with tears because she couldn't lie to this son of hers who looked like a rishi, yet she did not want to speak the truth. She also felt confused, and wondered why Prasad should now be asking this, when for so long he had been made fun of as my son. But then she understood that Prasad wasn't asking her that question, he was questioning himself. And having asked, “Who am I?”, he added, “Mother, I want to take sanyas to understand this question. I want to go to Hardwar where my life took root, and there I will also meditate on the roots of music. Please give your permission for this. The attachments of samsara are difficult to break. So I will also take Appayya with me. He seems very devoted to me.” As you know, it is only Chandrappa whom Prasad calls “Appayya”. After saying all this, he touched his mother's feet.

  ‘Gangu now feels desolate and deeply troubled because of what Prasad said this morning. She does not know what will become of her if she loses her only son.

  ‘She spoke to me of ways to keep her son. Should we tell him the truth of his birth? That would mean telling about you too. So you see, your coming just now must have been fated. Gangu has the illusion that her son will stay back in her house once he learns the whole truth. Another illusion is that if she gets a wedding thread tied by me before God, her son's agitation will end.

  ‘I do not see what relationship there is between the two. Perhaps to my lawyer's mind things don't happen that way. Still, I agreed to tie the thread. But now I am worried about Gopal. Maybe my greedy son will even want to kill me, fearing that the property will be divided. Haven't I already seen what his politics is like? He gets his opponents beaten by thugs.’

  Narayan once again started sounding like a lawyer.

  ‘Since Prasad is a vairagi, I will have all my property registered in my son's name, even that which is not ancestral property, but out of my own earnings. I have already registered Gangu's property in her name. Anyhow, what she earns is enough for her. But I am still worried about my mother. I know that she will accept my tying the marriage-thread on Gangu. One day she saw me looking worried, and said to me meaningfully, “Find a girl for your son and get him married. He can live separately with his family. He will learn to be responsible. Then you can do what you please.” After saying this, she surprised me even more by what she said next in a whisper.’

  Narayan stopped talking, opened the door of the car, waited for Dinakar to be seated, and then started the engine.

  ‘Do you know what Mother told me?’ Narayan asked, beginning to drive the car.

  He paused, and then continued in a respectful tone, ‘For my mother there will be no need to take another birth. Although she lives in this bhava, she is free from it.’


  After some time he spoke again, his voice trembling.

  ‘What Mother whispered to me was, “Gangu is like a member of our family.” She said this to me a year ago. I told Gangu and she said, “Because of Amma's words, I have truly become your wife.”’

  Dinakar felt depleted. He thought, ‘I am part of Narayan's life, but have no role to play in his release. He is framed by the samsara of his daily world, and I don't have that. There are people to advise him, people to listen to him, society to look out for. He has a place in society, but I don't. There are people to whom he can cause pain, people who expect things from him, but I have none. Prasad exists for Narayan, not for me. Prasad may be my son, or he may not be, but there is nothing for me to do about it. It is as if I am dangling, not knowing in which direction I should turn. And this body cannot endure being directionless indefinitely. For a rudderless man like me, there is neither samsara nor sanyas. I can't be in the world or be out of it. I have no ground to stand on. No matter how much I search, I will never find who I am.’

  17

  * * *

  Narayan Tantri turned his car off the main road. He was still speaking, but Dinakar couldn't hear what he said. Stopping in front of an isolated tile house, Narayan surprised Dinakar by saying, ‘I come here sometimes when I want a drink.’ Dinakar began to feel suspicious when Narayan entered the house as if it were his own, and a fellow sitting outside, with only a towel over his bare shoulder, stood up and shouted, ‘Rangamma, lawyer has come!’ Dinakar thought, ‘Ah, this Narayan is also like me. He cannot keep up a strong emotion for a long time.’ A dark attractive woman showed her face and, while chewing paan, said to Narayan in welcome, ‘Have you come? And after so many days …’

  Narayan didn't have to say anything more. She brought a jug of water and a bottle of whisky and placed them before him. ‘I have given up drinking for as long as I wear these clothes,’ said Dinakar. But he felt tempted, remembering his Delhi days as he smelt the whisky Narayan poured out. While Dinakar was admitting to himself that he would very soon return to his drinking, Narayan told Rangamma in Tulu, This is my friend from Delhi, a very great man. He is now in vrata. Bring him some lemon sherbet. No other requirements today.’

  Rangamma went inside flirtatiously. Dinakar thought, ‘So this too is part of Narayan's condition. He suffers, yet keeps his consolations intact. And when he thinks, “There is no use in mere suffering,” he becomes a vedantin. But like me, he will not turn over and be made new.’

  Dinakar felt ashamed of the way he was thinking. Here was Narayan, truly suffering, boldly getting ready, to marry Gangu. ‘Why should I judge him because of Rangamma when I myself have never been innocent? There is no liberation without clarity. And there is no clarity for me as long as I live in this world.

  ‘Once Ramakrishna Paramahansa put food before Kali and said, “Mother, you must eat this.” When she didn't eat it he began to cry, and then a black cat came and ate the food. Ramakrishna believed that the black cat was Kali herself.

  ‘If I were there, I would think it was just a cat, not a goddess. I can't even regret that I would believe so. Anyhow, it truly was a black cat. I am sure that if it had seen a mouse, it would have eaten it.

  ‘For people like me and Narayan, there is no clarity and there are no miracles, no wonderment, no turning over. There is no satisfaction in samsara either. Nor can I be content with not wanting to know what is beyond the world, even while I live in the world. Which means I have neither heaven nor hell, I have only small daily miseries.’

  Narayan, who had been enjoying his whisky, suddenly became expansive.

  ‘I think that the only vice I have hidden from my mother is my drinking. But maybe Mother pretends not to know in order that I should keep thinking she doesn't know. What use is there in worrying about what we have become? We should just keep quiet. God's grace will come to those who keep quiet.

  ‘Never mind that. Think of Shastri who brought you here. Do you know that he had a wife like gold and he beat her so much that she ran off with a Malayali pundit? She took with her a trunk full of gold. But Shastri also has a keep. She was there from the beginning. She is a very nice woman. On her advice, he married a second time. He had a daughter who became disgusted with his ill temper and ran away with someone. Now Shastri goes around with Purana and pravacchan, thinking he can lose his karma like this, talking and talking. Mad brahmin! There is a proverb that the nature you are born with will not leave you even if you are burnt to ashes. Even if people change, others won't believe it. All over this province they say that Shastri killed his wife and that the jackfruit tree which he planted in the pit where he buried her has never borne a single fruit. And some people say he has hidden his own gold.’

  Intoxicated by his own words, Narayan began to praise Gangu.

  ‘I used to take my drinks in Gangu's house. I would write on a piece of paper, and poor Chandrappa would take it and bring whisky and ice from a shop. Later I had a fridge put in Gangu's house. My mother had said, “There can be no fridge in our house.” She believes in madi. You see? Gangu's son probably did not like my drinking whisky in their house. Gangu held my feet and begged, “Don't drink here, please.” But when I stopped drinking there, I also stopped going there. I developed a new habit of coming here. This is what we mean by samsara.

  ‘But I haven't asked you anything about yourself. Also, Gangu asked me about you. You know what answer I gave her? “Artists like him don't get married, they live a carefree life,” I told her. And do you know what Gangu said? She said, “He looks as if he is in some deep sorrow.”’

  Narayan began to laugh. All the pain in his mind seemed to have disappeared.

  18

  * * *

  Shastri had returned and was waiting. Narayan went upstairs to his bedroom, on the pretext that he didn't want dinner, because he didn't want his mother to catch the smell of whisky. But Sitamma anyway mixed some beaten rice with curd and sent it to his room. She could not send cooked food because hands and eating-place could not be washed after the meal. When Shastri mentioned that he didn't take cooked food at night, she served beaten rice and curd to him too. For Dinakar and her grandson Gopal, she served a grand dinner.

  This was very different from the afternoon meal. All around a cured banana leaf were different vegetable side-dishes, and also lentil salad, poppadom, crispy fried poppadom, kheer, a little dal—all of these things were like an artistically designed menu-card. Some items which were not visible now would appear later on.

  To please Sitamma, Dinakar—like her grandson Gopal—took some water in his cupped palm, dripped a little through his fingers around the edge of the leaf, and drank the rest before starting the meal. Sitamma asked, ‘Do brahmins in your part follow this ritual?’ Dinakar didn't understand her and looked at Gopal, who explained. Dinakar nodded ‘Yes’ to Sitamma, then turned and told Shastri, ‘It is from this second mother that I came to know of kuttavalakki. If my mother was from this side, she must also have fed me that.’

  Then he asked Sitamma for some kuttavalakki and she said, ‘Don't fill your belly with this. That's stuff that only old people eat when they are fasting in the evening.'

  Once again, just as he had at their first meeting, Shastri stared at Dinakar while he ate kuttavalakki. He was startled when Sitamma laughed and said, ‘Why do you stare at that boy as if you want to eat him up?’

  Shastri prayed to himself, ‘O Bhagavati, protect me. When I look at him, I see in his face the radiance of Pundit. His eyes are like his mother's, but his short nose, his complexion, the firmness with which his lips press together, all these are like Pundit's. When Pundit listened to music, he used to sit in just that way. He must be Pundit's.’

  Then he thought, ‘No, he must be my child. I begot him while I was in that mad howling. Yet through some maya, he received a tender nature. He is mine, but he is not like me. He's a perpetuator of my family. Yet I cannot claim him.’ He began to sob inwardly, thinking, ‘My doubts will nev
er be cleared. It will be my karma to go to hell and be wailing there alone for eternity. O Bhagavati, show this old man the path. Burn away my hatred for Pundit. Release me.’

  Having made this prayer, Shastri finished his tiny meal. He spent the whole night thinking about meeting Dinakar the next day, asking himself, ‘Should I take him to my house, where the ghost is? Or should I not take him?’ Because of worry over this, he did not sleep.

  Next day, when Dinakar got up, he said to Shastri, ‘When I come back from Kerala I will come and stay with you, all right, Uncle?’

  ‘Why should Dinakar say this?’ Shastri thought, feeling cheered by Dinakar's words. ‘It must be the Devi's wish that I have to wait before deserving to take my son home.’ With this in his mind, he left, after breakfast, in his car.

  Being old, not having much longer to live, Shastri thought that he had lost his desire for life. He went to Radha's house feeling relieved by that thought. ‘When I die, who will perform my funeral rites?’ he had once asked himself. But now he was content to leave it to God, and told himself, ‘Let whatever is true be revealed.’

  19

  * * *

  When Dinakar went to his room that night, he couldn't sleep. He got up and squatted on his bed, tried to listen to music on his Walkman, but now the Tibetan chanting seemed unreal. There was no response to it in his heart.

  Dinakar decided to write letters. His first letter would be to someone who, with him as catalyst, had become a holy woman. He would write for his own sake, because he knew she would never read the letter, and his knowing this impressed on him his absurd state.