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  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.

  When their conversation was finished, Narayan—dressed in a black coat, white pants, a bow-tie under his starched white collar, and with a gown and some files in his hand—came downstairs with Gangu, who was behind him. She touched Dinakar's feet and asked in Hindi, ‘Will you come in the evening? Your Prasad said that he wanted to meet you.’

  Noting with admiration the Hindi she had learnt in school, Dinakar agreed to come. Narayan said, ‘Gangu's house is close by. Just walk on the road opposite to our house for a while, then turn to your right, and soon you will come to a mailbox. From there, turn to your left and go a little distance, until you see the Syndicate Bank. If you stand in front of the bank, you will see a narrow pathway to the left. Hers is the fifth house on the path. It is named “Rishikesh.” A fitting house for Prasad,’ Narayan said, laughing.

  Dinakar suddenly remembered their visit to Sivananda's ashram in Rishikesh. One day Narayan, carrying a howling Gopal, went with Sitamma back across the bridge, and Dinakar and Gangu had unexpectedly enjoyed a rare moment of privacy. And this was the same Gangu who now stood before him expressionlessly.

  Then Narayan said, ‘Never mind, Gangu, better to send Chandrappa along with Dinakar, let him not lose his way,’ and turning to Dinakar, he added, ‘Come with me now to the office, I must speak to you. I will send you back later in the car.’ He took Dinakar's arm and led him to the car. Gangu stayed back to share her news with Sitamma.

  While driving, Narayan talked to Dinakar as if he had just been saved from a big crisis. Gangu had told him how afraid she had been that morning when she saw Prasad with his head shaved. But after finishing his musical practice, Prasad touched her feet, stood up before her and said, ‘Let Narayan Tantri start coming home. I will also live at home, although I will go away sometimes and stay at other places.’ He also told her that he didn't want the attachment even of saffron robes.

  ‘Do you understand, Dinakar? This was the first time he ever spoke my name to Gangu. She could hardly believe it. And Prasad spoke of me with affection and calm. He has shed his hatred of me. Gangu told me all this with tears in her eyes. When the son becomes a great ascetic like Adishankara, stands before his mother looking like a bestower of fearlessness, would not his mother feel as if she had been given a new birth?

  ‘Gangu told me, “You don't have to tie a mangalsutra around my neck for the sake of appearances.” She also told me that, feeling it was an auspicious moment, she revealed to Prasad the truth about you. That is why Gangu said that you should go and bless him. That's why she called you home. Gangu is a great woman.’

  Dinakar felt awkward, hearing Narayan speak with such intensity. Yet in Narayan's words and gestures there was now the ease of one who had been relieved of a great embarrassment. ‘I wouldn't be able to achieve the nobility or poise or tactfulness of a man like Narayan who faces crises living in samsara. A man like me is not the man to be morally righteous.’ Feeling humbled, Dinakar followed Narayan into his office.

  Narayan showed his grand office to Dinakar with pride. There were many clerks, large books, and files. Dinakar admired everything, shook Narayan's hand and, driven by one of Narayan's clerks, came back home.

  ‘Are you not well?’ asked Sitamma. She mimed eating, and showed him that she was preparing kesu leaf for lunch.

  BOOK THREE

  23

  * * *

  Radha was weaving a garland of jasmine with banana fibre. Shastri, watching her, said, ‘Saroja used to get completely absorbed when she wove jasmine flowers. When she sang, she looked like a Devi.’ Then, pacing around the veranda, he added,
T wish Mahadevi could see her daughter again.’ Radha stopped weaving the jasmine and silently prayed, ‘Bhagavan, let the moment that I have been waiting for be now.’

  It was morning. The young sun rode over clouds, and its early rays shot through now and then. The air was pleasant, and the tidied veranda clean and cool.

  Shastri walked about the veranda twice more and said, ‘Radha?, ‘He stood silently for a while, clasping his hands behind his back. ‘Is he my son? And even if he is my son, would he accept me as his father? He looks like one who may be searching for his father in God’. I can only pray that he should succeed. Whether he is my son or not, he seems to be one who can give me a new life. I wish, by God's grace, that the howling within me would stop.’

  ∗

  Shastri's blossoming continued as Radha, weeping, revealed the secret that she had been hiding within her.

  24

  * * *

  Being a rich landlord, Shastri had placed his daughter in Mangalore College for study. Mangala was an intelligent girl, and he desired that she should have a good education. Mahadevi, anxious to guard her daughter's virtue, had wanted her to stay with a relation. But Shastri had abruptly dismissed her worry. There wasn't anyone he cared to send his daughter to, therefore he put her in a hostel. As a result of this freedom, she became friendly with a boy who was a very good debater. She herself was a bold girl, good at debates, and in her zeal for debating she developed a passion for politics as well. The boy, born in a poor family of the Malnad Halepyka caste, was intelligent enough to have got a scholarship to study engineering. He was handsome, sported a beard, and dressed attractively in kurta and pyjama.

  He had caught the attention of everyone by changing his name from Thimmaiah to Charvak. It was like an addiction for him to attract people's attention by doing something or the other. He would always use new, striking words to denounce landlords and casteism. Radha had no understanding of such things. She only knew that Mangala had told her that Charvak had gone even further than a Communist. Mangala was very impressed by Charvak's arguments, which also happened to give support to her dissatisfaction with her father. When she came home, even though urged by her mother, she wouldn't bow down to God. And she would argue that all brahmins were like leeches. Both Mahadevi and Radha took care not to repeat her ideas to her father.

  The change in Mangala's thinking made her feel close to Radha. She even insisted on eating in Radha's house. Radha wasn't happy to encourage this, but she couldn't refuse her food. Mangala had also confided in Radha about Charvak. ‘We don't believe in marriage. We will work secretly to bring about a unity among all people and make revolution,’ she had said. In the beginning, when Mangala talked like this, Radha didn't believe her. But finally she became convinced that this mad girl was truly serious. She was not like other Mangalore girls. She had no interest in ornaments or clothes, and would make fun of people who were fashionable. She had even made Radha feel that it was shameful to wear gold bangles.

  Mangala always dressed in a white sari and white blouse, and she wouldn't put on either earrings or a necklace.

  One day, they were arguing and Mangala said, ‘Why do you have anything to do with my murderous father who, everyone says, killed his pregnant wife? People like you should be liberated.’ She had said this very harshly. Radha thought Mangala very sharp-tongued, just like her father, and kept quiet. In the house of her benefactor, everyone was dear to Radha.

  Both Mangala and Charvak gave up college and ran away. God knows where they stayed and what they did for six months, or what they achieved in their revolutionary endeavour. Finally, Charvak came to Shimoga and took up the job of mechanic in a garage. Mangala wrote a letter to Radha saying that what he earned was not enough even for food. ‘Don't let my father know where we are. He might kill my husband because he's a shudra. If it isn't a hardship for you and you would like to, send me some money.

  Long live revolution!’

  Radha began to send at least one thousand rupees every month.

  But after a few months, Radha noticed a discordant note in Mangala's letters. She regarded this as the ordinary occasional disharmony between husband and wife. But Mangala didn't see this as a question of ‘husband-and-wife quarrel lasts until they eat and lie down together.’ Instead, she had seen the quarrels as a complication to be found in the lives of all revolutionary activists. Although such explanations were beyond Radha's understanding, she was pleased by Mangala's readiness to confide such things in her.

  ‘Charvak doesn't come home on time, he has begun to drink, and he quarrels with me, saying that by tagging onto a woman like me and taking to family life, he has lost the opportunity to be part of the revolution. But he doesn't seem to realize the true nature of revolution. Only a woman who has become a householder can truly understand the meaning of revolution.’ Radha, who had abundant instinctive cunning in such matters, had replied, ‘Become pregnant and win over your husband. Everything will be all right.’ Mangala listened to this advice without giving up her revolutionary fervour.

  ‘And now your daughter is seven months pregnant.’ Radha told Shastri. If you allow me, I will bring her here. Let her deliver in her own mother's house. I will anyhow be there to help.’ She said this apprehensively, although adopting a manner of lightness. ‘Just because your son-in-law is not a brahmin, you don't have to keep your daughter at a distance. And the child to be born is innocent. What caste can it have? Am I not also a shudra?,’ she teased him.

  Shastri said, very gravely, ‘Bring her.’

  Praying to Bhagavati that, by Radha's grace, his mind should keep its calmness, and hoping that the curse on him was at an end, Shastri added, ‘I will get a garage in Udupi for that wretched boy. If my daughter is far away from him and there is no one to control him, he will become a drunkard.’

  ∗

  Impatient to tell all this to Mahadevi, and excitedly planning how to arrange the house so that his grandchild could be born there, Shastri suddenly thought, as he neared home, ‘If Dinakar isn't my son, the gold in that trunk is mine alone, and therefore should belong to my daughter's child.’

  Then, as he entered the house, he found himself praying, ‘O Bhagavati, let me not think such unworthy thoughts.’

  Later, whenever his mind was troubled by these old conflicts, he would remember that on this day he had entered the house praying that such thoughts should never again come to him.

  25

  * * *

  Dinakar, having gone up the Shabarimala hill for Ayyappa darshan and come down again, was not surprised to realize that the whole experience had been like a picnic for him. After coming down the hill he bathed in the river and told himself,’ “That” is not to be won if you seek it wilfully.’ The river water was cold, and in brisk high spirits he rubbed his body before putting on the new red-bordered Kerala dhoti and white khadi shirt which he had bought before climbing the hill. As he was putting on these clothes, he thought of the winter evening in Mangalore which had shaken him.

  ∗

  Prasad had been sitting in the lotus posture, fingering the strings of the tamboura resting on his arm. When Dinakar, who did not know who his own father or mother were, saw him for the first time, he was filled with desire to know whether Prasad was his son. Yet the image that slowly, gradually, prevailed was of Prasad's long eyes half closed, as if half asleep, in inward-looking contemplation.

  The veranda he sat in was open to the skies, and in its soft evening shadow Prasad appeared like the young son of a sage, his lean, strong-muscled body straight-backed, seated in meditation.

  Dinakar stood a small distance away, filling his eyes with him. Prasad must have shaved off his long hair and beard only that morning—the shaved portions looked pale, and it was clear that for a long time they had been hidden from the sun. The rest of his body, which was constantly exposed to the sun and wind, was even-toned, the dark Krishna colour which had intoxicated the gopis.

  A white cloth was wound around his waist, a
nother white cloth carelessly flung over his shoulder. Dinakar observed that Prasad's nose was long and straight, slightly curved at the tip, that his chin was firm and his forehead broad. Unquestionably, his ears were not Narayan's. But they were certainly not Dinakar's either. They were like Gangu's, the lobes small and delicate. If he wore earrings, the earrings would be perfectly displayed. His whole face had a beauty that would be irresistible to women.

  Thinking this, Dinakar recalled his own erotic life and felt shame at his motive in examining Prasad's face so closely.

  Then, moved by Prasad's music, he thought, ‘But why should I be ashamed? Adishankara must have looked like Prasad when he wrote the commentary on Brahma Sutra. And, although only a boy sanyasi, hadn't Adishankara described the goddess, head to toe, even better than anyone who possessed sexual experience?’

  ∗

  Chandrappa, in undershirt and shorts, put aside his hoe and, disregarding the mud on his hands, listened in open-mouthed wonder to Prasad's singing. Dinakar had come and stood in the shaded front garden which was full of parijata, champak, jasmine and hibiscus. It was Chandrappa's labour that had made the whole place so fragrant.

  Gangu saw Dinakar looking lovingly at her son. She brought hot milk in a silver cup and placed it on the edge of the pyol, saying in greeting, ‘Have you come?’ She invited Dinakar onto the veranda. With her pallu draped over her head and sandal-paste on her forehead, she looked like an auspicious married woman.

  Dinakar didn't know how long he sat on the veranda. Shadows lengthened and it became time for lighting the lamps. Prasad was still sitting, singing to himself, motionless. His alap came in waves, returning again and again to the note from which it had emerged. Look, it is simple. Look, now it gathers into complexity. In the enchantment of its rising and falling, it seemed as if Prasad had touched what he wanted to touch.