The Householder (5 page)

But on the next Monday Raj failed to turn up. Prem stood by the box-office in the cinema and waited for him for a whole hour and a half. He felt rather awkward standing there waiting, and was even afraid that the manager might send someone to ask what he wanted. To make himself less suspicious, he wandered round from time to time to look at the pictures of forthcoming attractions, and once he bought a packet of potato crisps from the refreshment bar. As usual, there were many young men standing around, talking and joking together and looking at girls. They made Prem feel lonely and even a little elderly. This feeling was heightened when one group of young men turned out to be his students. ‘Good evening, sir,' they said, politely enough, but Prem noticed that when they thought he could no longer see them, they nudged one another and laughed. He remembered that Raj and he and their other friends had laughed and nudged in the same way when they had happened to meet one of their professors outside the college.

He left the cinema and went out into the street. There were the usual evening crowds, and they made him feel more lonely than ever. Everyone, except himself, seemed to have a companion and a destination. He crossed over to walk in the round of green in the centre. Here it was quieter. A few clerks sat on the grass, eating hot gram out of paper cones, and there was an ice-cream man with a yellow van and a solitary boy slid despondently down the chute. Prem sat down on a bench and watched an elderly Parsee gentleman in a black stove-pipe hat resting on an opposite bench. When he was tired of looking at him, he looked at the sky instead which, since it was sunset time, was a very delicate pink with streaks of flaring orange across it. How beautiful, Prem thought, how beautiful is Nature. He felt he ought to elaborate that sentiment to himself, and get something really noble and significant out of it. All this beauty has been created for man to enjoy, he thought; and would perhaps have gone further in searching out philosophy and deep meaning, when at this moment another voice said behind him, ‘What beautiful sunsets you have in India.'

Prem turned and saw a young man, a European, with a big head and rimless spectacles. ‘I was also admiring, like you,' he said, nodding with a smile towards the sky. ‘I was thinking how much beauty is there in India, how much colour is there, it is all so nice—but this is the country where people renounce the flesh and think only of the Spirit!' Prem stared at him. ‘It is marvellous,' said the young man. ‘I may sit with you?' He flung himself down on the grass at Prem's feet though there was plenty of room on the bench. He said, ‘Only think—in this country where everything is beautiful, the sunset and the fruit and the women, here you call it all Illusion! How do you say—Maya?'

Prem said, ‘Yes, Maya,' though he was not quite sure. He could not take his eyes off this young man, who seemed to him very strange.

‘What is this Maya? Why do you say so? Explain me, please.' He folded his arms and looked at Prem very challengingly. Prem began to panic a little, for he was not sure how or what he was expected to explain. But the young man did not really wait for an answer. He unfolded his arms again and called in a loud joyful voice, ‘How I love your India!' His pale eyes behind the rimless spectacles shone with happiness, he showed moist colourless gums in a blissful smile. ‘For me it is all one big feast!'

Prem felt called upon to make some comment. He was proud to hear a foreigner speak so highly of India, it raised all his patriotism. ‘Since Independence,' he said, ‘we have made great strides forward. For instance, our second Five Year Plan——'

‘Everything is so spiritual—we can wash off our dirty materialism when we come here to your India. Off with it!' and he started quite literally scrubbing at his arms and then at his neck with great vigour.

‘There are our new steel plants,' said Prem. ‘Six million tons of steel——'

‘It is such an old country and yet fresh—oh, my God, fresh like a newborn child!' He wrung his hands in ecstasy and smiled. Then suddenly he introduced himself: ‘I am Hans Loewe.' He held out a large hand but before Prem could shake it, he withdrew it again and said, ‘No, like this', and joined his hands together in front of his face in Indian salute: ‘Namaste,' he said with a very strange accent. ‘Loewe means lion—I am Hans the Lion.' He roared like one and then slapped his knee in laughter. Prem laughed with him, out of politeness.

‘Now we will drink a cup of coffee together,' said Hans, ‘and talk a little.' Prem followed him at once. The old Parsee was still sitting quietly on his bench and the clerks had bought bars of vanilla ice-cream on sticks from the man with the yellow van. But Prem did not even look at them. He was excited and felt his evening, which only a moment ago had been so empty and idle, to be full of adventure.

Hans led him into one of the coffee-houses in the main arcade. It was crowded, and waiters rushed about leaning sideways under the weight of trays; there was a lot of noise, people talked loudly and laughed, the waiters shouted orders into the kitchen and a row of fans whirred from the ceiling. But Prem did not feel shy or afraid, as he would have done if he had come with Raj. He had confidence in Hans, who indeed seemed to have a lot of confidence in himself. He moved forward like one elbowing his way through a crowd, in a lumbering forceful manner which soon found them an empty table. It was in a far dark corner and they sat there like lovers, side by side on a red sofa with stains on it.

Hans said, ‘Now you will ask me, how did I first come to this marvellous India?' Prem nodded. ‘I will tell you,' said Hans, with a relish that showed it was a good story and one that he liked to tell.

But while he was getting ready to tell it, moistening his lips by running his tongue round them and settling himself in his seat, Prem said, ‘I am Hindi lecturer in Khanna Private College. My father was Principal of Ankhpur College.'

‘Ah,' said Hans, ‘You are intellectual. I have great respect for the intellectuals. Now I will tell you. You see, one night I had a dream. Yes, you heard right—a dream. You are laughing?' Prem shook his head. He could not keep his eyes off Hans. How ugly he is, he thought. Hans' face had been turned a pale red by the sun and here and there, in odd places round his nose and forehead, the skin was peeling; his hair had been shaved so close that all that remained of it were tiny ends of blond bristle sparsely covering a big bumpy skull.

‘Yes,' said Hans, ‘what brought me here was a dream. You see, one night I was sleeping in my bed.' He shut his eyes and laid his head to rest sideways on his hands to illustrate his sleep. ‘Seven thousand miles away from your India, in Frankfurt, Germany. That is a long way, isn't it? Yes, but in a dream that is nothing. What does it matter, in a dream, seven miles, seven hundred miles, seven thousand miles?' Prem shook his head to signify that it did not matter. ‘So in my dream what do I see suddenly? I see India. Yes, your marvellous India I see. I see a palm tree and a temple. Under this palm tree who is sitting? Please bring me whipped cream with my coffee,' he told the waiter. ‘In Germany we drink coffee with cream whipped thick.'

Prem said, ‘For good coffee you must go to South India.'

‘Who is sitting under the palm tree?' Hans said, raising an admonitory forefinger and looking sternly at Prem, who at once changed the expression on his face to one of deep wonder and concentration. ‘It is a holy man. What you call a sadhu. Right?'

‘Yes, sadhu,' Prem said.

‘He is naked except for one cloth. He is sitting with his legs crossed under him. He is looking at me. His eyes, oh his eyes!' Hans called, raising his hands in rapture. A group of stout businessmen in transparent bush-shirts turned round to look at him from an adjacent table. ‘Such pity, such kindness there is in those eyes. Such love. And they are looking at me. Yes, at me, Hans Loewe'; he indicated himself with his forefinger. ‘And what do they say to me, those marvellous eyes?' The businessmen turned back again, shrugging at one another, and continued their conversation. Prem wished Hans would not talk so loudly.

‘Their message is simple,' said Hans. ‘It is only this: “Come, Hans'”; and he smiled, showing his tiny teeth and his gums. ‘Yes, only come, Hans. But it is enough. I take the rucksack on the back, I am here. Now tell me about you.' He folded his hands and looked at Prem with an expression of patient attention.

But Prem had already told about his father being Principal of Ankhpur College and himself a lecturer at Khanna Private College. What more could he tell him? He flushed slightly and then brought it out hastily: ‘I have been married four months.'

Hans said, ‘Is your wife beautiful?'

Prem bent his head and toyed furiously with his coffee-spoon. He did not know how anyone could come to put such an indecent question.

‘Indian women are all so beautiful,' Hans said. ‘When I walk in the street, I fall in love at least one hundred times.' Then he cried : ‘And with such women, you renounce the flesh!' Prem said ‘Sh' and looked round apprehensively. ‘Marvellous!' Hans shouted. ‘To practise abstinence when there are such women with such——'

‘Perhaps we should ask for the bill?'

‘You are in a hurry to go home to your new wife?' Hans said with a hearty laugh.

‘No, I …' Prem hastily raised his coffee-cup and pretended to drink from it, though it was quite empty.

‘I am making jokes. You will get used to me, I always make jokes.' Prem forced a laugh. ‘Well, but we are friends now? You will come to visit me?' He snatched at the coat of a passing waiter, who however did not stop. ‘This is where I live,' he said, writing it down on the menu. ‘You can come on Wednesday at six?'

When the bill came, Prem, who had been conditioned by Raj, at once offered to pay it. But Hans said, ‘We are friends now?' Prem nodded, feeling shy though pleased. ‘Friends share everything,' Hans said. ‘They share even bills.' He laughed and slapped money on the table. ‘Here is my half.' Prem drew out his money. ‘Marvellous!' Hans shouted. ‘This is called fifty-fifty.' He held out his hand but, again, before Prem could shake it, he withdrew it, saying, ‘No, like this', and joined his hands in Indian salute. ‘Namaste,' he said in his strange accent.

Prem was tremendously excited. All the time he thought about his new friend. When he got home, he hoped to meet the Seigals and be drawn into conversation with them, in the course of which he could mention that he had won the friendship of a German boy called Hans Loewe. But they were inside the house—he could hear them talking with friends—so he climbed up the stairs and found Indu counting out their laundry to the washerman. All their sheets and towels were spread over the floor of the sitting-room; Indu was saying, ‘What do you use for washing clothes—cow-dung?' which annoyed Prem because it was so very unrefined. The washerman grinned with pleasure and began to protest how he used only the finest soap. ‘Why don't you count the clothes in the bedroom?' Prem said irritably, so they finished in a hurry. When the washerman had gone, Prem said, ‘Why do you talk with him like that?'

‘Should I fill the water for your bath?' Indu said.

‘You are the lady of the household, you must behave with dignity and win everyone's respect.' Indu turned away her face, but Prem noticed that she had covered her mouth with her hand and was giggling behind it; he could tell from the way she hunched up her shoulders. So he said in an injured tone, ‘It is nothing to laugh at.'

‘I am not laughing,' Indu said; her voice sounded very stifled and she immediately put her hand over her mouth again.

‘You are no longer a girl in your father's house,' he reproached her. He suspected that it was her father's house that was responsible for her unrefined behaviour. In the short while that he had known her family—that is to say, during the days of wedding celebrations—he had noticed that they were rather loud in their behaviour. Indu's mother and her aunts were always shouting, either with laughter or with anger, and her sisters sang and giggled and played a lot of practical jokes. He had felt very uncomfortable among them and had been glad when it was all over.

‘And how do I look.' he said, ‘with a wife who doesn't know how to behave with dignity!' That reminded him of Mr. Khanna's tea-party. He realized that he must prepare her from now on and start impressing upon her the way in which she was expected to behave. ‘There is one very important matter,' he said and turned round to find that she had left the room.

He followed her into the kitchen. ‘Why do you go away when I am speaking with you?'

‘I thought you had finished speaking,' she said. She said it demurely enough, yet he could not help suspecting that she was laughing at him. The idea of a wife laughing at her husband! He deliberately called to mind his mother's deferential attitude towards his father in order to feel more poignantly how Indu was failing him.

‘Of course I have not finished,' he said sternly. ‘There are many important matters a husband and wife have to discuss together.' He could not quite define how it seemed to him that Indu was laughing at him. Her eyes were modestly lowered and she appeared intent on preparing dough for parathas. But the way her hands moved so swiftly and her bangles jingled and a strand of hair which had escaped from her big coil fluttered merrily on her cheek as she kneaded and pounded the dough: somehow her whole figure expressed laughter. He wanted to be angry with her, and yet also he wanted to laugh with her. He very much needed someone to laugh with and to talk to and confide in. How wonderful if it could have been Indu, with whom he lived and who lay beside him at night. He could tell her everything about the college and his feelings and experiences. He could tell her about Hans Loewe. He wanted very much to tell her about Hans Loewe.

But instead he spoke sternly again: ‘It is a wife's duty to share all her husband's worries.' She wiped a strand of hair from her face; she wiped it away with her upper arm, for her hands were full of dough. As she did so, he could not help noticing the soft skin on the inside of her arm. ‘I have so many worries, but you take no interest in them at all,' he said; his voice had changed to being querulous instead of stern. He wished she would lift her arm again, but was so ashamed of the wish that he would hardly admit it to himself.