Free Read online Bachelor of Arts by R. K. Narayan PART 1

Bachelor of Arts ----  R. K. Narayan

Part One

CHAPTER 1

Chandran was just climbing the steps of the College Union when Natesan, the secretary, sprang on him

and said, "You are just the person I was looking for. You remember your old promise?"

"No," said Chandran promptly, to be on the safe side.

"You promised that I could count on you for a debate any time I was hard pressed for a

speaker. You must help me now. I can't get a Prime Mover for the debate to-morrow evening. The

subject is that in the opinion of this house historians should be slaughtered first. You are the Prime

Mover. At five to-morrow evening." He tried to be off, but Chandran caught his hand and held him: "I am

a history student. I can't move the subject. What a subject! My professor will eat me up."

"Don't worry. I won't invite your professor."

"But why not some other subject?"

"We can't change the Union Calendar now."

Chandran pleaded, "Any other day, any other subject."

"Impossible," said the secretary, and shook himself free.

"At least make me the Prime Opposer," pleaded Chandran.

"You are a brilliant Mover. The notices will be out in an hour. To-morrow evening at five...."

Chandran went home and all night had dreams of picking up a hatchet and attacking his

history professor, Ragavachar. He sat down next morning to prepare for the debate. He took out a piece

of paper and wrote: "His'ians to be slaughtered first. Who should come second? Scientists or

carpenters? Who will make knife-handles if carpenters are killed first? In any case why ki ll anybody?

Must introduce one or two humorous stories. There was once a his'ian who dug in his garden and

unearthed two ancient coins, which supplied the missing link of some period or other; but lo! they were

not ancient coins after all but only two old buttons.... Oh, a most miserable story. Idiotic. What am I to

do? Where can I get a book full of jokes of a historical nature? A query in some newspaper. Sir, will you

or any of your numerous readers kindly let me know where I can get historical humours?" It was quite an

hour before Chandran woke up and his pen ceased. He looked through the jottings that were supposed

to be notes for his evening speech. He suddenly realized that his mind wandered when he held pen

over paper, but he could concentrate intensely when he walked about with bent head. He considered

this a very important piece of self-realization.

He pushed his chair back, put on his coat, and went out. After about two hours of wandering

he returned home, having thought of only one argument for killing historians first, namely, that they

might not be there to misrepresent the facts when scientists, poets, and statesmen were being killed in

their turn. It appeared to him a very brilliant argument. He could see before him a whole house rocking

with laughter.... chandran spent a useful half-hour gazing at the college, noticeboard. He saw his name

in a notice announcing the evening's debate. He marched along the corridor, with a preoccupied look, to

his class. With difficulty he listened tb the lecture and took down notes. When the hour closed and the

lecturer left the class, Chandran sat back, put the cap on his pen, and let his mind dwell on the subject

of historians. He had just begun a short analysis of the subject when Ramu, sitting three benches down

the gallery, shouted to him: "Shall we go out for a moment till Brown comes in?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Chandran was irritated. "You can go if you like."

"Certainly. And you can just stay there and mope," said Ramu, and walked down the gallery.

Chandran felt relieved at his exit, and was settling down to further meditation on historians when

somebody asked him to lend his notes of the lecture in the previous hour; somebody else wanted

something else. It went on like that till Professor Brown, principal of the college, entered the class with a

pile of books under his arm. This was an important hour, Greek Drama Chandran had once again to

switch his mind off the debate.

At the end of the hour Chandran went to the library and looked through the catalogue. He

opened several shelves and examined the books. He could not get the slightest help or guidance. The

subject of the debate seemed to be unique. There was any quantity of literature in support of history, but

not one on the extermination of historians.

He went home at three. He had still two hours before the debate. He said to his mother: "I am

speaking in a debate this evening. I am now going to my room to prepare. Nobody must knock on my

door or shout near my window."

He came out of his room at four-thirty, ran up and down the hall, banged his fists on the

bathroom door, splashed cold water on his head, and ran back to his room. He combed and brushed his

hair, put on his chocolate-coloured tweed coat, which was reserved for special occasions, and hurried

out of the house. natesan, the secretary, who was waiting with a perspiring face on the Union veranda,

led Chandran into the hall and pushed him into his seat--the first of the four cushioned chairs arranged

below the platform for the main debaters. Chandran mopped his face with his handkerchief and looked

about. The gallery, built to accommodate about a thousand members of the Union, was certainly not

filled to overflowing. There were about fifty from the junior classes and a score from the Final Year

classes. Natesan bent over Chandran's shoulder and whispered, "Good house, isn't it?" It was quite a

big gathering for a Union debate.

A car stopped outside with a roar. The secretary dashed across the hall and returned in a

moment, walking sideways, with a feeble official smile on his face, followed by Professor Brown. He led

the professor to the high-backed chair on the platform, and whispered to him that he might open the

proceedings. Professor Brown rose and announced, "I call upon Mr. H. V. Chandran to move the

proposition..." and sat down.

The audience clapped their hands. Chandran rose, looked fixedly at the paperweight on the

table, and began, "Mr. Speaker, I am certain that this house, so well known for its sanity and common

sense, is going to back me solidly when I say that historians should be slaughtered first. I am a student

of History and I ought to know...."

He went on thus for about twenty minutes, inspired by the applause with which the audience

received many of his cynicisms.

After that the Prime Opposer held the attention of the audience for about twenty minutes.

Chandran noted with slight displeasure that the audience received his speech with equal enthusiasm.

And then the seconders of the prime speakers droned on for about ten minutes, each almost repeating

what their principals had said. When the speakers in the gallery rose there was an uproar, and

Professor Brown had to ring the bell and shout "Order, order." Chandran felt very bored. Now that he

had delivered his speech he felt that the speeches of the others in the hall were both unnecessary and

inferior. His eyes wandered about the hall. He looked at the speaker on the platform. He kept gazing at

Professor Brown's pink face. Here he is, Chandran thought, pretending to press the bell and listen to the

speeches, but really his thoughts are at the tennis-court and the card-table in the English Club. He is

here not out of love for us, but merely to keep up appearances. All Europeans are like this. They will

take their thousand or more a month, but won't do the slightest service to Indians with a sincere heart.

They must be paid this heavy amount for spending their time in the English Club. Why should not these

fellows admit Indians to their clubs? Sheer colour arrogance. If ever I get into power I shall see that

Englishmen attend clubs along with Indians and are not so exclusive. Why not give the poor devils--so

far away from their home--a chance to club together at least for a few hours at the end of a day's work?

Anyway who invited them here?

Into this solo discussed Professor Brown's voice impinged: "Members from the House having

expressed their views, and the Prime Opposer having summed up, I call upon Mr. Chandran to speak

before putting the proposition to the vote."

Chandran hurriedly made one or two scratches on a sheet of paper, rose, and began: "Mr.

Speaker and the Honourable House, I have followed with keen excitement the views expressed by the

honourable members of this House. It has considerably lightened my task as the Prime Mover. I have

no doubt what the verdict of this House will be on this proposition...." He spun out sentences ti ll the

Speaker rang the bell to stop him. Before sitting down he threw in his anecdote about the professor who

dug up brass buttons in his garden.

When the division was taken the House, by an overwhelming majority, voted for an early

annihilation of historians. Chandran felt victorious. He dramatically stretched his arm across the table

and shook hands with the Prime Opposer.

Professor Brown rose and said that technically he ought not to speak, and then explained for

five minutes why historians should be slaughtered and tor five minutes why they should be deified. He

complimented the movers on their vigorous arguments for the proposition, and the opposers on the able

stand they had taken.

As soon as he sat down, the secretary jumped on to the platform and mumbled a vote of

thanks. By the time the vote of thanks was over the hall had become empty and si lent.

Chandran lingered in the doorway as the lights were dimmed, and the secretary, in a very

exhausted condition, supervised the removal of the paperweights and table-cloth to the store-room.

"You are coming my way?" Chandran asked.

"Yes."

"Well, the meeting is over," said the secretary as they descended the Union steps. Chandran

hoped that the secretary would tell him something about his speech. But the secretary was busy with his

own thoughts. "I am sorry I ever took up this business," he said. "Hardly any time is left over for my

studies. We are already in the middle of August and I don't know what Political Philosophy is."

Chandran was not interested in the travails of a secretary. He wanted him to say something

about his own speech in the debate. So he said: "Nobody invited you to become the secretary. You

forget that you begged, borrowed, and stole votes at the Union elections."

"I agree with you," the secretary said. "But what is to be done about it now?"

"Resign," said Chandran. He resented the secretary's superficial interest in Chandran's

speech. He had cringed for Chandran's help before the debate, and immediately the thing was over did

not trouble to make the slightest reference to the speech.

"I will tell you a secret," the secretary said. "If I had kept clear of the Union elections, I should

have saved nearly seventy rupees."

"What do you mean?"

"Every vote was purchased with coffee and tiffin, and, in the election month, the restaurant bill

came to seventy. My father wrote to me from the vi llage asking if I thought that rupees lay scattered in

our village street."

Chandran felt sympathy for him, but was still disappointed that he made no reference to his

speech. There was no use waiting for him to open the subject. He was a born grumbler. Settle all his

debts and give him all the comforts in the world, he would still have something to grumble about.

"I have not paid the restaurant bill yet..." began the secretary. Chandran ignored this and

asked abruptly: "What do you think of the Boss's speech?"

"As humorous as ever," said the secretary.

"It is an idiotic belief you fellows have that everything he says is humorous. He has only to

move his lips for you to hold your sides and laugh."

"Why are you so cynical?"

"I admit he has genuine flashes of humour, but..."

"You can't deny that Brown is a fine principal. He has never turned down any request to

preside at meetings."

"That is all you seem to care for in a man. Presiding over meetings! It proves nothing."

"No. No. I only mean that he is a very pleasant man."

"He is a humbug, take it from me," said Chandran. "He gets his thousand a month, and no

wonder he is pleasant. Remember that he is a scoundrel at heart."

They had now covered half the length of Market Road. As they passed the fountain in the

Square, Chandran realized that he was wasting much time and energy in a futile discussion. A few

paces more and they would be at the mouth of Kabir Street. A few more moments of that futile

discussion and the other would turn and vanish in the darkness. Chandran resolved to act while there

was still time: "Secretary, how did you like my speech to-day?"

The secretary stopped, gripped Chandran's hand and said: "It was a wonderful speech. You

should have seen Brown's face as he watched you. He would certainly have clapped his hands, but for

the fact that he was the Speaker.... I say, I really liked your story about the professor and his buttons.

Such a thing is quite possible, you know. Fine speech, fine speech. So few are really gifted with

eloquence."

When they came to Kabir Street, Chandran asked sym- pathetically, "You live here?"

"Yes."

"With your people?"

"They are in the village. I have taken a room in a house where a family lives. I pay a rent of

about three rupees. It is a small room."

"Boarding?"

"I got to a hotel. The whole thing comes to about fifteen rupees. Wretched food, and the room

is none too good. But what can I do? After the elections my father cut my allowance, and I had to quit

the college hostel. Why don't you come to my room some day?"

"Certainly, with pleasure," said Chandran.

"Good night."

The secretary had gone a few yards down Kabir Street, when Chandran called suddenly,

"Here, secretary!" The other came back. Chandran said: "I did not mean that thing about your

resignation seriously. Just for fun."

"Oh, it is all right," said the secretary.

"Another thing," said Chandran. "Don't for a moment think that I dislike Brown. I agree with

you entirely when you say he is a man with a pleasant manner. He has a first-rate sense of humour. He

is a great scholar. It is really a treat to be taught Drama by him. I was only trying to suggest that people

saw humour even where he was serious. So please don't mistake me."

"Not at all," said the secretary, and melted in the darkness of Kabir Street.

Chandran had sti ll a quarter of Market Road to walk. A few dim Municipal lamps, and the gas

lamps of the roadside shops, lit the way. Chandran walked, thinking of the secretary. The poor idiot!

Seemed to be always in trouble and al- ways grumbling. Probably borrowed a lot. Must be taking things

on credit everywhere, in addition to living in a dingy room and eating bad food. What with a miserly

father in the village and the secretary's work and one thing and another, how was he to pass his

examination? Not a bad sort. Seemed to be a sensible fellow.

His feet had mechanically led him to Lawley Extension. His was the last bungalow in the

Second Cross Road of the Extension. As he came before the house that was the last but one, he

stopped and shouted from the road, "Ramu!"

"Coming!" a voice answered from inside.

Ramu came out. "Didn't you come to the debate?" Chan-dran asked.

"I tried to be there, but my mother wanted me to escort her to the market. How did it go off?"

"Quite well, I think. The proposition was carried."

"Really!" Ramu exclaimed, and shoook Chandran's hand.

They were as excited as if it were the Finance Bill before the Legislative Assembly in Delhi.

"My speech was not bad," said Chandran, "Brown presided. I was told that he liked it

immensely...."

"Good crowd?"

"Fairly good. Two rows of the gallery were full. I am really sorry you were not there."

"How did the others speak?"

"The voting ought to indicate. Brown really made a splendid speech in the end. It was full of

the most uproarious humour."

Chandran asked: "Would you care to see a picture tonight?"

"'It's nearly nine."

"It doesn't matter. You've finished your dinner. I won't take even five minutes. Put on your coat

and come." Ramu asked: "I hope you are paying for both of us?"

"Of course," said Chandran.

As Chandran came to his gate, he saw his father in the veranda, pacing up and down. Latecoming

was one of the few things that upset him. Chandran hesitated for a moment before lifting the

gate chain. He opened the gate a little, slipped in, and put the chain back on its hook noiselessly. His

usual move after this would be to slip round to the back door and enter the house without his father's

knowledge. But now he had a surge of self-respect. He realized that what he usually did was a piece of

evasive cowardice worthy of an adolescent. He was not eighteen but twenty-one. At twenty-one to be

afraid of one's parents and adopt sneaky ways! He would be a graduate very soon and he was already

a remarkable orator!

This impulse to sneak in was very boyish. He felt sorry for it and remedied it by unnecessarily

lifting the gate chain and letting it noisily down. The slightest noise at the gate excited an alert

watchfulness in his father. And as his father stood looking towards the gate, Chandran swaggered along

the drive with an independent air, but within he had a feeling that he should have chosen some other

day for demonstrating his independence. Here he was, later than ever, with a cinema programme before

him, and his father would certainly stop him and ask a lot of questions. He mounted the veranda steps.

His father said: "It is nine."

"I spoke in a debate, Father. It was late when it closed."

"How did you fare in the debate?"

Chandran gave him an account of it, all the time bothered about the night show. Father never

encouraged any one to attend a night show.

"Very good," Father said. "Now get in and have your food. Your mother is waiting."

Chandran, about to go in, said casually: "Father, Ramu will be here is a moment; please ask

him to wait."

"All right."

"We are going to a cinema/to-night.... We are in a rather festive mood after the debate."

"H'm. But I wouldn't advise you to make it a habit. Late shows are very bad for the health."

He was in the dining-room in a moment, sitting before his leaf and shouting to the cook to

hurry up.

The cook said: "Please call your mother. She is waiting for you."

"All right. Bring me first rice and curd."

He then gave a shout, "Mother!" which reached her as she sat in the back veranda, turning

the prayer beads in her hand, looking at the coco-nut trees at the far end of the compound. As she

turned the beads, her lips uttered the holy name of Sri Rama, part of her mind busied itself with thoughts

of her husband, home, children, and relatives, and her eyes took in the delicate beauty of coco-nut trees

waving against a starlit sky.

By the time she reached the dining-room Chandran had finished his dinner. She slowly

walked to the _Puja__ room, hung the string of beds on a nail, prostrated before the gods, and then

came to her leaf. By that time Chandran was gone. Mother sat before her leaf and asked the cook,

"Didn't he eat well?"

"No. He took only rice and curd. He bolted it down."

She called Chandran.

"What, Mother?"

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I am going to the cinema."

"I had that potato sauce prepared specially for you, and you have eaten only curd and rice!

Fine boy!"

"Mother, give me a rupee."

She took out her key bunch and threw it at him. "Take it from the drawer. Bring the key back."

they walked to the cinema. Chandran stopped at a shop to buy some betel leaves and a packet of

cigarettes. Attending a night show was not an ordinary affair. Chandran was none of your business-like

automatons who go to a cinema, sit there, and return home. It was an aesthetic experience to be

approached with due preparation. You had to chew the betel leaves and nut, chew gently, until the heart

was stimulated and threw out delicate beads of perspiration and caused a fine tingling sensation behind

the ears; on top of that you had to light a cigarette, inhale the fumes, and with the night breeze blowing

on your perspiring forehead, go to the cinema, smoke more cigarettes there, see the picture, and from

there go to an hotel near by for hot coffee at midnight, take some more betel leaves and cigarettes, and

go home and sleep. This was the ideal way to set about a night show. Chandran squeezed the

maximum aesthetic delight out of the experience, and Ramu's company was most important to him. It

was his presence that gave a sense of completion to things. He too smoked, chewed, drank coffee,

laughed (he was the greatest laugher in the world), admired Chandran, ragged him, quarrelled with him,

breathed delicious scandal over the names of his professors and friends and unknown people.

The show seemed to have already started, because there was no crowd outside the Select

Picture House. It was the only theatre that the town possessed, a long hall roofed with corrugated iron

sheets. At the small ticket-window Chandran inquired, "Has the show begun?"

"Yes, just," said the ticket man, giving the stock reply.

You might be three-quarters of an hour late, yet the man at the ticket window would always

say, "Yes, just."

"Hurry up, Ramu," Chandran cried as Ramu slackened his pace to admire a giant poster in

the narrow passage leading to the four-annas entrance.

The hall was dark; the ticket collector at the entrance took their tickets and held apart the

curtains. Ramu and Chandran looked in, seeking by the glare of the picture on the screen for vacant

seats. There were two seats at the farthest end. They pushed their way across the knees of the people

already seated. "Head down!" somebody shouted from a back seat, as two heads obstructed the

screen. Ramu and Chandran stooped into their seats.

It was the last five minutes of _a__ comic in which Jas Jim was featured. That fat genius,

wearing a ridiculous cap, was just struggling out of a paint barrel.

Chandran clicked his tongue in despair: "What a pity. I didn't know there was a Jas two-reeler

with the picture. We ought to have come earlier."

Ramu sat rapt. He exploded with laughter. "What a genius he is!" Chandran murmured as Jas

got on his feet, wearing the barrel around his waist like a kilt. He walked away from Chandran, but

turned once to throw a wink at the spectators, and, taking a step back, stumbled and fell, and rolled off,

and the picture ended. A central light was switched on. Chandran and Ramu raised themselves in their

seats, craned their necks, and surveyed the hall.

The light went out again, the projector whirred. Scores of voices read aloud in a chorus:

"Godfrey T. Memel presents Vivian Troilet and Georgie Lomb in _Lightguns of Lauro..."__ and then

came much unwanted information about the people who wrote the story, adapted it, designed the

dresses, cut the film to its proper length, and so on. Then the lyrical opening: "Nestling in the heart of

the Mid-West, Lauro city owed its tranqui llity to the eagle-eyed sheriff "; then a scene showing a country

girl (Vivian Troilet) wearing a check skirt, going up a country lane. Thus started, though with a deceptive

quietness, it moved at a breathless pace, supplying love, valour, villainy, intrique, and battle in

enormous quantities for a whole hour. The notice "Interval" on the screen, and the lights going up,

brought Chandran and Ramu down to the ordinary plane. The air was thick with tobacco smoke. Ramu

yawned, stood up, and gazed at the people occupying the more expensive seats behind them.

"Chandar, Brown is here with some girl in the First Class."

"May be his wife," Chandran commented without turning.

"It is not his wife."

"Must be some other girl, then. The white fellows are born to enjoy life. Our people really don't

know how to live. If a person is seen with a girl by his side, a hundred eyes stare at him and a hundred

tongues comment, whereas no European ever goes out without taking a girl with him."

"This is a wretched country," Ramu said with feeling.

At this point Chandran had a fit of politeness. He pulled Ramu down, saying that it was very

bad manners to stand up and stare at the people in the back seats.

Lights out again. Some slide advertisements, each lasting a second.

"Good fellow, he gets through these inflictions quickly," said Chandran.

"For each advertisement he gets twenty rupees a month."

"No, it is only fifteen."

"But somebody said that it was twenty."

"It is fifteen rupees. You can take it from me," Chandran said.

"Even then, what a fraud! Not one stays long enough. I hardly take in the full name of that

baby's nourishing food, when they tell me what I ought to smoke. Idiots. I hate advertisements."

The advertisements ended and the story started again from where it had left off. The hero

smelt the ambush ten yards ahead. He took a short cut, climbed a rock, and scared the ruffians from

behind. And so on and on it went, through fire and water, and in the end the good man Lomb always

came out triumphant; he was an upright man, a courageous man, a handsome man, and a strong man,

and he had to win in the end. Who could not foresee it? And yet every day at every show the happy end

was awaited with breathless suspense. Even the old sheriff (all along opposed to the union of Vivian

with Georgie) was suddenly transformed, and with tears in his eyes he placed her hands on his. There

was a happy moment before the end, when the lovers' heads were shown on an immense scale, their

lips welded in a kiss. Good night.

Lights on. People poured out of the exits, sleepy, yawning, rubbing their smarting eyes. This

was the worst part of the evening, this trudge back home, all the way from the Select Picture House to

Lawley Extension. Two or three cars sounded their horns and started from the theatre.

"Lucky rascals. They will be in their beds in five minutes.

When I start earning I shall buy a car first of all. Nothing like it. You can just see the picture

and go straight to bed."

"Coffee?" Chandran asked, when they passed a brightly lit coffee hotel.

"I don't much care."

"Nor do I."

They walked in silence for the most part, occasionally exchanging some very dull, languid

jokes.

As soon as his house was reached, Ramu muttered, "Good night. See you to-morrow," and

slipped through his gate.

Chandran walked on alone, opened the gate silently, woke up his younger brother sleeping in

the hall, had the hall door opened, and fumbled his way to his room. He removed his coat in the dark,

flung it on a chair, kicked a roll of bedding on the floor, and dropped down on it and closed his eyes

even before the bed had spread out.

CHAPTER 2

july, August, September, and October were months that glided past without touching the conscience.

One got up in the morning, studied a bit, attended the classes, promenaded the banks of Sarayu River

in the evenings, returned home at about eight-thirty, talked a little about things in general with the

people at home, and then went to bed. It did not matter whether all the books were on the table or

whether the notes of lectures were up to date. Day after day was squandered thus till one fine morning

the younger men opened their eyes and found themselves face to face with November. The first of

November was to a young man of normal indifference the first reminder of the final trial--the

examination. He now realized that half the college year was already spent. What one ought to do in a

full year must now be done in just half the time.

On November the first Chandran left his bed at 5 a.m., bathed in cold water, and sat at his

study table, before even his mother, the earliest riser in the house, was up. He sat there strengthening

himself with several resolutions. One was that he would get up every day at the same hour, bathe in

cold water, and get through three hours of solid work before starting for the college. The second

resolution was that he would be back home before eight in the evenings and study till eleven-thirty. He

also resolved not to smoke because it was bad for the heart, and a very sound heart was necessary for

the examination.

He took out a sheet of paper and noted down all his subjects. He calculated the total number

of preparation hours that were available from November the first to March. He had before him over a

thousand hours, including the twelve-hour preparations on holidays. Of these thousand hours a just

allotment of so many hundred hours was to be made for Modern History, Ancient History, Political

Theories, Greek Drama, Eighteenth-century Prose, and Shakespeare. He then drew up a very

complicated time-table, which would enable one to pay equal attention to all subjects. Balance in

preparation was everything. What was the use of being able to score a hundred per cent in Modern

History if Shakespeare was going to drag you in the mire:1 Out of the daily six hours, three were to be

devoted to the Optional Subjects and three to the Compulsory. In the moming the compulsory subjects,

and Literature at night. European History needed all the freshness and sharpness of the morning brain,

whi le it would be a real pleasure to read Literature in the evenings.

He put down for that day _Othello__ and the Modern Period in Indian History. He would finish

these two in about forty-eight hours and then take up Milton and Greek History.

And he settled down to this programme with a scowl on his face.

The Modern Period in Indian History, which he had to take up immediately, presented

innumerable difficulties. The texts on the subject were many, the notes of class lectures very bulky.

Moreover, if he went on studying the Modern Period, what was to happen to the Medieval Period and

the Ancient? He could not afford to neglect those two important sections of Indian History. Could he now

start at the beginning, with the arrival of the Aryans in India, and at a stretch go on to Lord Curzon's

Vice-royalty? That would mean, reckoning on Godstone's three volumes, the mastication of over a

thousand pages. It was a noble ambition, no doubt, but hardly a sound one, because the university

would not recognize your work and grant you a degree if you got a hundred per cent in History and one

per cent in the other subjects? Chandran sat for nearly half an hour lost in this problem.

The household was up by this time. His father was in the garden, minutely examining the

plants for evidence of any miracle that might have happened overnight. When he passed before

Chandran's window he said: "You have got up very early to-day."

"I shall get up before five every day hereafter," said Chandran.

"Very good."

"This is November the first. My examinations are on the eighteenth of March. How many days

is it from now?"

"About one hundred and thirty-eight- "

"About that," said Chandran. "It must be less because February, which comes before the

examination month, has only twenty-eight days unless the leap year gives it a day more. So it must be

less than one hundred and twenty-eight by three days. Do you know the total number of pages I have to

read? Roughly about five thousand pages, four times over, not to speak of class lecture notes. About

twenty thousand pages in one hundred and twenty days. That is the reason why I have to get up so

early in the morning. I shall probably have to get up earlier still in course of time. I have drawn up a

programme of work. Won't you step in and have a look at it?"

Father came in and gazed at the sheet of paper on Chandran's table. He could not make

anything of it. What he saw before him was a very intricate document, as complicated as a railway timetable.

He honestly made an attempted to understand it and then said: "I don't follow this quite clearly. "

Chandran took the trouble to explain it to him. He also explained to him the problems that harassed him

in studying History, and sought his advice. "I want to know if it would be safe to read only the Modern

Period in Godstone and study the rest in notes. " His father had studied science for his B. A. This

consultation on an historical point puzzled him. He said: "I feel you ought not to take such risks."

Chandran felt disappointed. He had hoped that his father would agree with him in

supplementing Godstone with the class notes. This advice irritated him. After all, Father had never been

a history student.

"Father, you have no idea what splendid lectures Raga-vacher gives in the class. His lectures

are the essence of all the books on the subject. If one reads his notes, one can pass even the I. C. S.

examination."

"You know best," said Father. As he started back for the garden, he said, "Chandar, if you go

to the market will you buy some wire-netting? Somebody is regularly stealing the jasmine from the

creeper near the compound wall. I want to put up some kind of obstruction that side."

"That will spoil the appearance of the house, Father."

"But what are we to do? Somebody comes in even before dawn and steals the flowers."

"After all, only flowers," said Chandran, and Father went out muttering something.

Chandran returned to his work, having definitely made up his mind to study only the Modern

Period in Godstone. He pulled out the book from the shelf, blew off the dust, and began at the Mogul

Invasion. It was a heavy book with close print and shining pages, interspersed with smudgy pictures of

kings dead and gone.

At nine he closed the book, having read five pages. He felt an immense satisfaction at having

made a beginning.

While going in to breakfast he saw his younger brother, Seenu, standing in the courtyard and

looking at the crows on an arecanut tree far off. He was just eight years old, and was studying in the

Third Class in Albert Mission School. Chandran said to him: "Why do you waste the morning gazing at

the sky?"

"I am waiting to bathe. Somebody is in the bathroom."

"It is only nine. What is the hurry for your bath? Do you want to spend the whole day before

the bathroom? Go back to your desk. You will be called when the bathroom is vacant. Let me not catch

you like this again!"

Seenu vanished from the spot. Chandran was indignant. In his days in the Albert Mission he

had studied for at least two hours every morning. The boys in these days had ab- solutely no sense of

responsibility.

His mother appeared from somewhere with the flower-basket in her hand. She was full of

grievances: "Somebody takes away all the flowers in the garden. Is there no way of stopping this

nuisance? Nobody seems to care for anything in this house." She was in a fault-finding mood. Not

unusual at this hour. She had a variety of work to do in the mornings--tackling the milkman, the

vegetable-seller, the oil-monger, and other tradespeople; directing the work of the cook and of the

servants; gathering flowers for the daily worship; and attending to all the eccentricities and wants of her

husband and children.

Ghandran knew that the worst one could do at that time was to argue with her. So he said

soothingly: "We will lock the gate at night, and try to put up some wire-netting on the wall."

She replied: "Wire-netting! It will make the house hideous! Has your father been suggesting it

again?"

"No, no," Chandran said, "he just mentioned it as a last measure if nothing else is possible."

"I won't have it," Mother said decisively; "something else has got to be done." Chandran said

that steps should be taken, and asked himself what could be done short of digging a moat around the

house and putting crocodiles in it. Mother, however, was appeased by this assurance. She explained

mildly: "Your father spends nearly twenty-five rupees on the garden and nearly ten rupees on a

gardener. What is the use of all this expense if we can't have a handful of flowers in the morning, for

throwing on the gods in the _Puja__ room?" that afternoon, while crossing the quadrangle, Chandran

met Ragavachar, the Professor of History. He was about to pass him, paying the usual tribute of a meek

salute, when Ragavachar called, "Chandran!"

"Yes, sir," answered Chandran, much puzzled, having never been addressed by any

professor outside the class. In a big college the professors could know personally only the most

sycophantic or the most brilliant. Chandran was neither.

'What hour do you finish your work to-day?"

"At four-thirty, sir."

"See me in my room at four-thirty."

"Yes, sir."

When told of this meeting Ramu asked: "Did you try to plant a bomb or anything in his

house?" Chandran retorted hotly that he didn't appreciate the joke. Ramu said that he was disappointed

to hear this, and asked what Chandran wanted him to do. Chandran said: "Will you please shut up and

try not to explain anything?" They were sitting on the steps outside the lecture hall. Ramu got up and

said: "If you want me, I shall be in the Union reading-room till five."

"We have _Othello__ at three-thirty."

"I am not attending it," said Ramu, and was gone.

Chandran sat alone, worrying. Why had Ragavachar called him? He hadn't misbehaved; no

library book overdue; there were one or two tests he hadn't attended, but Ragavachar never corrected

any test paper. Or could it be that he had suddenly gone through all the test papers and found out that

Chandran had not attended some of the tests? If it was only a reprimand, the professor would do it in

the open class. Would any professor waive such an opportunity and do it in his room? For that matter,

Ramu had not attended a single test in his life. Why was he not called? What did Ramu mean by going

away in a temper? "Not attending it!" Seemed to be taking things easy.

The bell rang. Chandran rose and went in. He climbed the gallery steps and reached his seat.

He opened the pages of _Othello__, placed a sheet of paper on the page, and took out his pen.

It was the Assistant Professor's subject. The Assistant Professor of English was Mr.

Gajapathi, a frail man with a meagre moustache and heavy spectacles. He earned the hatred of the

students by his teaching and of his colleagues by his conceit. He said everywhere that not ten persons

in the world had understood Shakespeare; he asserted that there were serious errors even in Fowler's

_Modern English Usage;__ he corrected everybody's English; he said that no Indian could ever write

English; this statement hurt all his colleagues, who prepared their lectures in English and wished to think

that they wrote well. When he valued test or examination papers, he never gave anybody more than

forty per cent; he constituted himself an authority on punctuation, and deducted half a mark per

misplaced comma or semicolon in the papers that he corrected.

He entered the hall at a trot, jumped on the platform, opened his book, and began to read a

scene in _Othello__. He read Shakespeare in a sing-song fashion, and with a vernacular twang. He

stopped now and then to criticize other critics. Though Dowden had said so-and-so, Mr. Gajapathi was

not prepared to be brow-beaten by a big name. No doubt Bradley and others had done a certain amount

of research in Shakespeare, but one couldn't accept all that they said as gospel truth. Gajapathi proved

in endless instances how wrong others were.

Chandran attempted to take down notes, but they threat- ened to shape into something like

the Sayings of Gajapathi. Chandran screwed the cap on his pen and sat back. Gajapathi never liked to

see people sitting back and looking at him. He probably felt nervous when two hundred pairs of eyes

stared at him. It was his habit to say, "Heads down and pencils busy, gentlemen," and "Listen to me with

your pencils, gentlemen."

In due course he said: "Chandran, I see you taking a rest."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't say '_yes__' Keep your pen busy."

"Yes, sir." Chandran, with his head bent, began to scribble on the sheet of paper before him:

"Oh, Gajapathi, Gajapathi! When will you shut up? Do you think that your lecture is very interesting and

valuable? In these two lines Shakespeare reveals the innermost core of lago. _Gaja__, in Sanskrit,

means elephant; _pathy__ is probably master. A fine name for you, you Elephant Master." And here

followed the sketch of an elephant with spectacles on.

"Chandran, do I understand you are taking down notes?"

"Yes, sir."

The bell rang. Gajapathi intended to continue the lecture even after the bell; but two hundred

copies of Verity's _Othello__ shut with a loud report like the cracking of a rifle. The class was on its feet.

When he came down the gallery, Gajapathi said: "A moment, Chandran." Chandran stopped

near the platform as the others streamed past him. Everybody seemed to want him to-day.

Gajapathi said: "I should like to see your lecture notes."

Chandran was nonplussed for a moment. If he remembered aright he had scribbled an

elephant. The other things he did not clearly recollect; but he knew that they were not meant for

Gajapathi's scrutiny. He wondered for a moment whether he should escape with a lie, but felt that

Gajapathi did not deserve that honour. He said: "Honestly, I have not taken down anything, sir. If you

will excuse me, I must go now. I have to see Professor Ragavachar."

As he came near the Professor's room, Chandran felt very nervous. He adjusted his coat and

buttoned it up. He hesitated for a moment before the door. He suddenly pulled himself up. Why this

cowardice? Why should he be afraid of Ragavachar or anybody? Human being to human being.

Remove those spectacles, the turban, and the long coat, and let Ragavachar appear only in a loin-cloth,

and Mr. Ragavachar would lose three-quarters of his appearance. Where was the sense in feeling

nervous before a pair of spectacles, a turban, and a black long coat?

"Good evening, sir," said Chandran, stepping in.

Ragavachar looked up from a bulky red book that he was reading. He took time to switch his

mind off his studies and comprehend the present.

"Well," he said, looking at Chandran.

"You asked me to see you at four-thirty, sir."

"Yes, yes. Sit down."

Chandran lowered himself to the edge of a chair. Ragavachar leaned back and spent some

time looking at the ceiling. Chandran felt a slight thirsty sensation, but he recollected his vision of

Ragavachar in a loin-cloth, and regained his self-confidence.

"My purpose in calling you now is to ascertain your views on the question of starting an

Historical Association in the college."

Saved! Chandran sat revelling in the sense of relief he now felt.

"What do you think of it?"

"I think it is a good plan, sir," and he wondered why he was chosen for this consultation.

"What I want you to do," went on the commanding voice, "is to arrange for an inaugural

meeting on the fifteenth instant. We shall decide the programme afterwards."

"Very well, sir," said Chandran.

"You will be the Secretary of the Association. I shall be its President. The meeting must be

held on the fifteenth."

"Don't you think, sir..." Chandran began.

"What don't I think?" asked the Professor.

"Nothing, sir."

"I hate these sneaky half-syllables," the Professor said. "You were about to say something. I

won't proceed till I know what you were saying."

Chandran cleared his throat and said: "Nothing, sir. I was only going to say that some one

else might do better as a secretary."

"I suppose you can leave that to my judgment."

"Yes, sir."

"I hope you don't question the need for starting the association."

"Certainly not, sir."

"Very good. I for one feel that the amount of ignorance on historical matters is appalling. The

only way in which we can combat it is to start an association and hold meetings and read papers."

"I quite understand, sir."

"Yet you ask me why we should have this association!"

"No, I did not doubt it."

'H'm. You talk the matter over with one or two of your friends, and see me again with some

definite programme for the Inaugural Meeting."

Chandran rose.

"You seem to be in a hurry to go," growled the tiger.

"No, sir," said Chandran, and sat down again.

"If you are in a hurry to go, I can't stop you because it is past four-thirty, and you are free to

leave the college premises. On the other hand, if you are not in a hurry, I have some more details to

discuss with you."

"Yes, sir."

"There is no use repeating Yes, sir; yes, sir.' You don't come forward with any constructive

suggestion."

"I will talk it over with some friends and come later, sir."

"Good evening. You may go now." Chandran emerged from the Professor's room with his

head bowed in thought. He felt a slight distaste for himself as a secretary. He felt that he was on the

verge of losing his personality. Now he would have to be like Natesan, the Union Secretary. One's head

would be full of nothing but meetings to be arranged! He was now condemned to go about with a fixed

idea, namely, the Inaugural Meeting. The Inaugural Meeting by itself was probably not a bad thing, if it

were also the final meeting; but they would expect him to arrange at least half a dozen meetings before

March: readings of papers on mock subjects, heavy lectures by paunchy hags, secretary's votes of

thanks, and endless other things. He hated the whole business. He would have to sit through the

lectures, wait till the lights were put out and the doors locked, and go out into the night with a headache,

foregoing the walk by the river with Ramu. Ah, Ramu; that fellow behaved rather queerly in the

afternoon, going off in a temper like that.

Chandran went to the reading-room in the Union. None of the half a dozen heads bent over

the illustrated journals belonged to Ramu. Chandran had a hope that Ramu might be in the chessroom.

He was not the sort to play chess, but he occasionally might be found in the company that stood around

and watched a game of chess, shutting out light and air from the players. But to-day the game of chess

seemed to be going on without Ramu's supervision; nor was he to be found in the ping-pong room.

Chandran descended the Union steps in thorough discontent.

He turned his steps to the river, which was a stone's throw from the college. He walked along

the sand. The usual crowd was there--girls with jasmine in their hair, children at play, students loafing

about, and elderly persons at their constitutionals. Chandran enjoyed immensely an evening on the river

bank: he stared at the girls, pretended to be interested in the children, guffawed at friends,

perambulated about twice or thrice, and then walked to the lonely Nal-lappa's Grove and smoked a

cigarette there. Ramu's company and his running commentary lent vitality to the whole experience.

But to-day his mind was clogged, and Ramu was absent. Chandran was beginning to feel

bored. He started homeward.

It was a little past seven when he turned into the Second Cross road in Lawley Extension. He

stood before Ramu's gate and shouted, "Ramu!" Ramu came out.

"Why were you not in the reading-room?"

"I waited, and thought that you would be late and came away."

"You were not by the river."

"I returned home and went for a walk along the Trunk Road." _r __ n

"What did you mean by going away like that to the reading-room, so abruptly?"

"I wanted to read the magazines."

"I don't believe it. You went away in a temper. I wonder why you are so lacking in patience!"

"What about your temper? You meet Ragavachar and are worried, and a fellow says

something lightly and you flare up!"

Chandran ignored the charge. He seized upon the subject of Ragavachar. He gave a full

account of the amazing interview. They stood on the road, talking the matter over and over again, for

nearly two hours.

When Chandran went home his father said: "Nine o'clock." Later, when he was about to go to

bed, Father asked, "Your plan of study not come into force yet?" That question hurt Chandran's

conscience. He went to his table and stood looking at the programme he had sketched out in the

morning. Not much of it was clear now. He went to bed and his conscience gnawed at him in the dark till

about eleven. He had spent the morning in drawing plans and the rest of the day somehow. First of

November gone, irrevocably gone, and wasted; six of the forty-eight hours for _Othello__ and Godstone

thrown on the scrap-heap. the Inaugural Meeting troubled Chandran day and night, and he was unable

to make any progress in _Othello__ and Godstone. His notions as to what one did on the day of the

meeting were very vague. He faintly thought that at such a meeting people sat around, drank tea, shook

hands with each other, and felt inaugural.

Five mornings before the meeting, in a fit of desperation, he flung aside his Godstone, and

started for Natesan's room.

If ever there was a man to guide another in these matters, it was Natesan. He had been twice

the Secretary of the Sanskrit Association, once its Vice-President, Secretary of the Philosophy

Association of a Social Service League, and now of the Union. Heaven knew what other things he was

going to be. He must have conducted nearly a hundred meetings in his college life. Though Chandran

had sometimes dreaded meeting this man, now he felt happy when he knocked on his door and found

him in. It was a very narrow room with a small window opening on the twisting Kabir Street, and halffilled

with a sleeping cot, and the remaining space given over to the four legs of a very big table, on

which books were heaped. One opened the door and stepped on the cot. Natesan was reclining on a

roll of bedding and studying. He was very pleased to see Chandran, and invited him to take a seat on

the cot.

Chandran poured out his troubles. "What does one do on the inaugural day?"

"A lengthy address is delivered, and then the chairman thanks the lecturer, and the secretary

thanks the lecturer and the chairman, and the audience rise to go home."

"No tea or anything?"

"Oh, no. Nothing of the sort. Who is to pay for the tea?"

And then hearing of Chandran's vagueness and difficulties, Natesan suggested the Principal

for the address, and Professor Ragavachar for the chair. After his interview with Natesan, Chandran

realized that a secretary's life was a tormented one. He was now in a position to appreciate the services

of not only Natesan, but also of Alam, the Secretary of the Literary Association, of Rajan, the Philosophy

Association Secretary, of Moorty, the Secretary of the Economics Association,, the people who were

responsible for all the meet- ings in the college. Chandran realized that there was more in these

meetings than met the eye or entered the ear. Each meeting was a supreme example of human

endeavour, of selfless service. For what did a secretary after all gain by sweating? No special honours

from the authorities nor extra marks in the examinations. Far from it. More often ridicule from

classmates and frowns from professors, if something went wrong. The bothers of a secretary were: a

clash with other secretaries over the date of a meeting; finding a speaker, finding a subject for the

speaker; and getting an audience for the subject.

That day Chandran skipped nearly two periods in order to see the Principal. The peon

squatting before the Principal's room would not let him in. Chandran pleaded and begged. The peon

spoke in whispers, and commanded Chandran to talk in whispers. Chandran whispered that he had to

see the Principal, whispered a threat, whispered an admonition, in whispers cringed and begged, but

the peon was adamant.

"I have orders not to let anybody in," said the peon. He was an old man, grown grey in college

service, that is in squatting before the Principal's office door. His name was Aziz.

"Look here, Aziz," Chandran said in a soothing tone, "why can't anybody see him now?"

"It is not for me to ask. I won't let anybody in. He is very busy."

"Busy with what?"

"What do you care?" Aziz asked haughtily.

"Is he given his thousand a month to sit behind that door and refuse to see people?"

At this the servant lost his temper, and asked: "Who are you to question it?" Chandran gave

some stinging answer to this. It was a great strain to carry on the conversation, the whole thing having

to be conducted in whispers. Chandran realized that it was no use losing one's temper. He tried strategy

now. He said: "Aziz, I have an old coat at home; not a tear in it. Will you come for it to-morrow morning?"

"What time?"

"Any time you please. I live in Lawley Extension."

"Yes, I know. I will find out your house."

"Give me a slip of paper."

Aziz tore out a slip from a bundle hung on the door. Chandran wrote his name on it and sent it

in. Aziz came out of the room in a few minutes and said that Chandran might go in. Chandran adjusted

his coat and entered.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning."

Chandran delivered a short preamble on the Historical Association, and stated his request.

The Principal took out a small black diary, turned over its pages, and said: "The fifteenth evening is free.

All right."

"Thank you, sir," said Chandran, and remained standing for a few minutes. He himself could

not say what he was waiting there for. His business had been completed too rapidly. He didn't know

whether he ought to say something more or leave the room abruptly. The Principal took out a cigarette

and lighted it. "Well?"

"We are... We are very grateful to you, sir, for your great kindness."

"Oh, it's all right. Don't mention it."

"May I take my leave?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, sir. Good morning." Chandran marched out of the room. When he passed Aziz he

said: "What a bad fellow you are, you wouldn't let me in!"

"Master, I do my duty and get a bad name. What am I to do? Can I see you to-morrow

morning?"

"I shall ask the peon at our gate not to let you in."

"Oh, master, I am a poor old fellow, always shivering with cold. Don't disappoint me. If you

give me a coat, I shall always remember you as my saviour."

"All right. Come to-morrow," whispered Chandran, and passed on.

He went to Ragavachar's room and announced that the Principal had consented to deliver the

inaugural address. Ragavachar did not appear excited by the news. He growled, after some rumination:

"I am not sure if his address will be suitable for an Historical Association."

"I think, sir, he can adjust himself."

"One hopes so."

"You must take the chair, sir."

"I suppose... H'm." Nothing further was said. Having moved with him closely for ten days

Chandran understood it to mean consent.

"May I go, sir?"

"Yes."

CHAPTER 3

the fifteenth of November was a busy day for Chandran. He spent a great part of the morning in making

arrangements for the meeting in the evening.

Two days before, he had issued printed notices over his signature to all the members of the

staff, and to all the important lawyers, doctors, officials, and teachers in the town.

From every board in the college his notices invited every one to be present at the

meeting. 4 As a result of this, on the fifteenth, at five in the evening, while Chandran was

still arranging the dais and the chairs in the lecture hall of the college, the audience began to arrive.

The college peon, Aziz, lent him a stout hand in making the arrangements. The old coat had

done the trick. Aziz personally attended to the arrangement of the chairs in the front row. He arranged

the chairs and the table on the dais. He gave a gorgeous setting to the Historical Association. He spread

a red cloth on the dais, and a green baize on the table. He illuminated the hall with petrol lamps.

As the guests arrived, Chandran ran to the veranda and received them and conducted them

to their seats. At 5.15 almost all the chairs were occupied; all the seats in the gallery were also filled.

Students of the college who came late hung on to the banisters.

The Principal and Professor Ragavachar arrived and stopped in the veranda. Chandran flitted

about uncertainly, and invited them in. The Principal looked at his watch and said: "Five minutes more.

We shall stay here till five-thirty."

Ragavachar adjusted his spectacles and murmured: 'Tes, yes."

Some more guests arrived. Chandran showed them their seats. Ramu was all the time at his

side, running errands, helping him, asking questions, and not always receiving an answer.

"What a crowd!" Ramu said.

"You see..." began Chandran, and saw the Headmaster of the Albert Mission School arriving

and ran forward to meet him. Chandran returned after seating the Headmaster in the hall.

Ramu said: "It looks as if you were giving a dinner-party to the town folk."

Chandran said, his eyes scanning the drive for visitors, "Yes, it looks like that. Only flowers,

scents, and a dinner missing to complete the picture."

Ramu asked, "Shall I wait for you at the end of the lecture?" and was not destined to receive

an answer. For, at this moment, Ragavachar looked at his watch and said: "It is five-thirty, shall we

begin?"

"Yes, sir."

The Secretary led the speaker and the Chairman to their chairs on the dais, and occupied a

third chair placed on the edge of the dais.

After the cheering and stamping had subsided, Ragavachar rose, put on his spectacles, and

began, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am not going to presume to introduce to you the lecturer of this

evening. I do not propose to stand between you and the lecturer. I shall take only a few minutes,

perhaps only a few seconds, to enlighten you on a few facts concerning our association...." He then

filled the hall with his voice for a full forty minutes. The audience gathered from his speech that an

Historical Association represented his faith in life; it was a vision which guided him in all his activities.

The audience also understood that darkness prevailed in the minds of over ninety per cent of human

beings, and that he expected the association to serve the noble end of dispelling this darkness. Great

controversial fires were raging over very vital matters in Indian History. And what did they find around

them? The public went about their business as if nothing was happening. How could one expect these

fires to be extinguished if the great public did not show an intel- ligent appreciation of the situation and

lend a helping hand? To quote an instance: everybody learnt in the secondary school history book that

Sirajudowlla locked some of the East Indian Company people in a very small room, and allowed them to

die of suffocation. This was the well-known Black Hole of Calcutta. There were superhistorians who

appeared at a later stage in one's education and said that there had been neither Black nor Hole nor

Calcutta. He was not going to indicate his own views on the question. But he only wished to convey to

the minds of the audience, to the public at large, to all intelligent humanity in general, what a state of

bloody feud existed in the realm of Indian History. True History was neither fiction nor philosophy. It was

a hardy science. And to place Indian History there an Association was indispensable. If he were asked

what the country needed most urgently, he would not say Self-Government or Economic Independence,

but a clarified, purified Indian History.

After this he repeated that he would not stand between the lecturer and his audience, and,

calling upon Professor Brown to deliver the Inaugural Address, sat down.

As Professor Brown got up there was great applause. He looked about, put his right hand in

his trouser pocket, held his temples with his left hand, and began. He looked at Chandran and said that

he had not bargained for this, a meeting of this dimension and importance, when he acceded to the

Secretary's request. Chandran tapped the arms of his chair with his fingers, looked down and smiled,

almost feeling that he had played a deep game on the Principal. The lecturer said that he had

consented to deliver an address this evening, thinking that he was to be at the opening of a very simple

Association. From what Ragavachar said, he under- stood it to be something that was of national

importance. If he had known this, his place now would be in one of the chairs that he saw before him,

and he would have left the responsible task to better persons. However, it was too late to do anything

now. He hoped that he would have an occasion to settle his score with Chandran.

The audience enjoyed every word of this. People who had awaited Brown's humour were fully

satisfied.

Professor Brown traced his relations with History from the earliest times when he was in a

private school in Somerset to the day on which he entered Oxford, where he shook History off his

person, because he found the subject as treacherous as a bog at night. Thereafter, for his degree, he

studied Literature, and regularly spent some hours of private study on History. "I can now give a fairly

coherent account of mankind's 'doings,' if I may borrow an expression from the composition books that I

correct. But don't ask me the date of anything. In all History I remember only 1066."

He held the audience for about an hour thus, with nothing very serious, nothing profound, but

with the revelation of a personality, with delicious reminiscences, touched with humour and occasional

irony.

He sat down after throwing at his audience this advice: "Like Art, History must be studied for

its own sake; and so, if you are to have an abiding interest in it, take it up after you leave the university.

For outside the university you may read your history in any order; from the middle work back to the

beginning of things or in any way you like, and nobody will measure how many facts you have rammed

into your poor head. Facts are, after all, a secondary matter in real History."

Ragavachar inwardly fretted and fumed at the speech. If the lecturer had been any one else

than Brown, the Principal of the college, he would have taken the speech to bits and thrown it to the four

winds, and pulled out the tongue of the lecturer and cut it off. At the end of the lecture, he merely rose

and thanked the lecturer on behalf of the audience and sat down. When Chandran rose to propose a

hearty vote of thanks to the lecturer and to the chairman for their great kindness in consenting to

conduct the meeting, it acted as a signal for the audience to rise and go home. A babble broke out.

Chandran's voice could hardly be heard except by a select few in the very first row. chapter 4 Chandran

put off everything till the Inaugural Meeting was over. He consoled himself with the fact that he had

wasted several months so far, and a fortnight more, added to that account, should not matter. He had

resolved that the moment the meeting was over he would get up at 4.30 instead of 5 a.m. as decided

originally. The time wasted in a fortnight could then be made up by half an hour's earlier rising every

day. He would also return home at seven in the evening instead of at seven-thirty. This would give him a

clear gain of an hour a day over his previous programme. He hoped to make up the ninety study hours,

at six hours a day, lost between the first of November and the fifteenth, in the course of ninety days.

This was a sop to his clamouring conscience. He thought now he would be able to get up a

four-thirty on the following morning and begin his whirlwind programme of study. But man can only

propose. He was destined to throw away two more mornings. On the night of the big meeting, before

going to bed, he spent some time on the carpet in the hall, gossiping with his mother. He announced

that he would get up at four-thirty next morning.

Father, who appeared to be reading a newspaper in the veranda, exclaimed: "So after all!"

This remark disturbed Chandran. But he remained silent, hoping that it would discourage his father from

uttering further remarks. Father, however, was not to be kept off so easily. The newspaper rustled on

the veranda, and five minutes later came the remark: "Since this is the third time you have made a

resolution, it is likely you will stick to it, because every plan must have two trials." Chandrose rose and

went on to the veranda. His father was in a puckish, teasing mood. As soon as Chandran came out, he

looked at him over his spectacles and asked: "Don't you agree with me?"

"What, Father?"

"That a plan must have two trials."

Chandran felt uncomfortable. "You see, Father, but for this dreadful meeting, I should have

done ninety hours of study, according to my time-table. I shall still make it up. I shall not be available to

any one from to-morrow." He gave a glowing account of what he was going to do from the next morning

onwards.

Father said that he was quite pleased to hear it. He said: "If you get up at four-thirty, do wake

me up also. I want to wait and catch the scoundrel who steals the flowers in the morning."

Mother's voice came from the hall: "So, after all, you are doing something!"

"Hardly my fault that," Father shouted back. "I offered to put up wire-fencing over the wall."

"Why, do you want to give the thief some wire in addition to the flowers?"

Father was greatly affected by this taunt.

Mother added fuel to it by remarking, "Twenty-five rupees on the garden and not a single petal

of any flower for the gods in the _Puja__ room."

Father was very indignant. He behaved like a medieval warrior goaded by his ladylove into

slaying a dragon. Father dropped a hint that the flower thief would be placed at her feet next day, alive

or dead.

Next morning Chandran was awakened by his alarum clock. He went to his father's room and

woke him up. After that he went to the bathroom for a cold bath.

In ten minutes Chandran was at his table. He adjusted the light, drew the chair into position,

and pondered over the piece of paper on which he had written a time-table.

His father entered the room, carrying a stout bamboo staff in his hand. Behind him came

Seenu, armed with another stick. There was the light of a hunter in Father's eyes, and Seenu was

bubbling over with enthusiasm. Chandran was slightly annoyed at this intrusion. But Father whispered

an apology, and requested, "Put out that light. If it is seen in your room, the thief will not come near the

house."

"So much the better. Mother can take the flowers in the morning," said Chandran.

"He will come some other day."

"From now on, at least till March, there is no fear of this room ever being without a light at this

hour. So the flower thief will be away till March. Let us catch him after that."

"Oh, that is all far-fetched. I must get him to-day. It doesn't matter if you lose about an hour.

You can make it up later.

Chandran blew out the lamp and sat in the dark. Father and Seenu went out into the garden.

Chandran sat in his chair for some time. He rose and stood looking out of the window. It was very dark

in the garden.

Chandran began to wonder what his father and brother were doing, and how far they had

progressed with the thief. His curiosity increased. He went into the garden, and moved cautiously along

the shadows, and heard hoarse whispers coming from behind a big sprawling croton.

"Oh, it is Chandran," said a voice.

Father and Seenu were crouching behind the croton.

"Don't make any noise," Father whispered to Chandran.

Chandran found the tactics weak. He took command. It seemed to him waste to concentrate

all the forces in one place. He ordered his father to go a little forward and conceal himself behind a rose

bush; and his younger brother to prowl around the back yard, while he himself would be here and there

and everywhere, moving with panther-like steps from cover to cover.

There was a slight hitch in the campaign. Seenu objected to the post he was allotted. It was

still dark, and the back yard had a mysterious air. Chandran called him a coward and several other

things, and asked him why he had left his bed at all if he could not be of some use to people.

In about an hour the sun came out and revealed the jasmine and other plants bare of flowers.

Father merely looked at them and said: "We must get up at four o'clock, not at four-thirty."

Next day Chandran was out of bed at four, and with his father hunting in the garden. Nothing

happened for about ten minutes. Then a slight noise was heard near the gate. Father was behind the

rose bush, and Chandran had pressed himself close to the compound wall. A figure heaved itselr on to

the portion of the wall next to the gate, and jumped into the garden. The stranger looked about for a

fraction of a second and went towards the jasmine creeper in a business like way.

Hardly had he plucked half a dozen flowers when father and son threw themselves on him

with war-cries. It was quite a surprise for Chandran to see his father so violent. They dragged the thief

into the house, held him down, and shouted to mother to wake up and light the lamp.

The light showed the thief to be a middle-aged man, bare bodied, with matted hair, wearing

only a loin-cloth. The loin-clodi was ochre-coloured, indicating that he was a _sanyasi__, an ascetic.

Father relaxed his hold on noticing this.

Mother screamed, "Oh, hold him, hold him." She was shaking with excitement. "Take him

away and give him to the police."

Chandran said to the thief, "You wear the garb of a _sanyasi__, and yet you do this sort of

thing!"

"Is he a _sanyasi?"__ Mother asked, an noticed the colour of the thief's loin-cloth. "Ah, leave

him alone, let him go." She was seized with fear now. The curse of a holy man might fall on die fami ly.

"You can go, sir," she said respectfully.

Chandran was cynical. "What, Mother, you are frightened of every long hair and ochre dress

you see. If you are really a holy man, why should you do this?"

"What have I done:1" asked the thief.

"Jumping in and stealing flowers."

"If you lock the gate, how else can I get in than by jumping over the wall? As for stealing

flowers, flowers are there, God-given. What matters it whether you throw the flowers on the gods, or I do

it. It is all the same."

"But you should ask our permission."

"You are all asleep at that hour, and I don't wish to disturb you. I can't wait until you get up

because my worship is over before sunrise."

Mother interposed and said: "You can go now, sir. If you want flowers you can take them.

There couldn't be a better way of worship than giving flowers to those who really worship."

"Truly said, Mother," said the holy man. "I should certainly have asked your permission but for

the fact that none of you are awake at that hour."

"I shall be awake," said Chandran, "from to-morrow."

"Do you use these flowers for your worship, Mother?" asked the stranger.

"Certainly, every day. I never let a day go without worship."

"Ah, I did not know that. I had thought that here, as in many other bungalows, flowers were

kept only for ornament. I am happy to hear that they are put to holy use. Hereafter I shall take only a

handful and leave the rest for your worship. May I take leave of you now?" He crossed the hall and

descended the veranda steps.

Father said to Chandran: "Take the gate key and open the gate. How can he get out?"

"If you leave him alone, he will jump over the wall and go," mumbled Chandran sourly as he

took the gate key from the nail on the veranda wall.

CHAPTER 5

November to March was a very busy period for Chandran. He got up every day at four-thirty in

the morning, and did not get to bed until eleven. He practised his iron scheme of study to the letter. By

the beginning of March he was well up in every subject. There were still a few inevitable dark corners in

his mind: a few hopeless controversies among Shakespearian scholars, a few impossible periods in

History like the muddle that was called the medieval South Indian History, early Christianity with warring

popes and kings, and feudalism. He allowed the muddle to remain undisturbed in his mind; he got into

the habit of postponing the mighty task of clarifying these issues to a distant favourable day. He usually

encouraged himself in all this vagueness by saying that even if he lost thirty marks in each paper owing

to these doubts he would still be well within the reach of seventy in each, and, out of this, allowing

twenty for defective presentation and examiners' eccentricities, he would still get fifty marks in each

paper, which would be ten more than necessary for a pass degree.

He had a few other achievements to his credit. Before March he conducted about eight

meetings of the Historical Association. He himself read a paper on "The Lesser-known Aspects of

Mauryan Polity."

The Historical Association was responsible for two interesting contacts. He came to know

Veeraswami, the revolutionary, and Mohan, the poet.

Veeraswami was a dark, stocky person, about twenty-two years old. One day he came to

Chandran and offered to read a paper on "The Aids to British Expansion in India." Chandran was

delighted. He had never met anyone who volunteered to address the Association. On a fateful day, to

an audience of thirty-five, Veeraswami read his paper. It was the most violent paper ever read before an

association. It P'lloried Great Britain before the Association, and ended by hoping that the British would

be ousted from India by force. Ragavachar, who was present at the meeting, felt very uncomfortable.

Next day he received a note from Brown, the custodian of British prestige, suggesting that in future

papers meant to be read before the Association should be first sent to him. This infuriated Chandran so

much that he thought of resigning till Ragavachar assured him that he would not get his degree if he

tried these antics. Chandran sought Veeraswami and told him of the turmoil that his paper had caused,

and consulted him on the ways and means to put an end to Brown's autocracy. Veeraswami suggested

that he should be allowed to read a paper on "The Subtleties of Imperialism," without sending the paper

to Brown for his approval. Chandran declined this offer, explaining that he did not wish to be expelled

from the college. Veeraswami asked why not, and called Chandran a coward. Chandran had a feeling

that he had got into bed with a porcupine. Veeraswami bristled with prejudices and violence. Imperialism

was his favourite demon. He believed in smuggling arms into the country, and, on a given day, shooting

all the Englishmen. He assured Chandran that he was even then preparing for that great work. His

education, sleep, contacts, and everything, were a preparation. He was even then gathering followers.

He seemed to have considered this plan in all its aspects. Indians were hopelessly underfed and sickly.

He proposed to cure hunger by encouraging the use of coco-nuts and the fruits of cactus for food. He

was shortly going to issue pamphlets in Tamil, Telugu, and English on the subject. In regard to sickness

he believed that the British encouraged it in order to provide a permanent market for the British drug

manufacturers. He was going to defeat that plan by propagating the nature-cure idea. After thus improving

the physique of the masses he would take charge of their minds. He would assume the garb of a

village worker, a rural reconstruction maniac, but secretly prepare the mind of the peasantry for

revolution.

After that Veeraswami never gave Chandran a moment's peace. In all leisure hours Chandran

lived in terror of being caught by Veeraswami, which invariably happened. If Chandran went to the

reading-room, Veeraswami was sure to hunt him down; if he went into the ping-pong room, he would be

chased even there. So Chandran took to slinking out and going to a secluded spot on the river bank.

This almost led to a misunderstanding with Ramu, who thought that Chandran was avoiding him. In the

evenings, too, Veeraswami would catch Chandran and follow him everywhere. Veeraswami would talk

all the evening as Ramu and Chandran followed him with the look of a sacrificial goat in their eyes.

The other person whom the Historical Association brought in, Mohan, was less troublesome.

He sidled up to Chandran one afternoon as the latter sat over his coffee in the Union Restaurant, and

asked if a meeting could be arranged where some poems might be read. Chandran felt quite thrilled to

meet a poet in the flesh. He never read poetry for pleasure, but he had a great admiration for poets.

Chandran asked the other to take a seat and offered him a cup of coffee.

"Have your poems anything to do with History?"

"I don't understand you."

"I want to know if they deal with historical facts. Something like a poem on the Mogul

Emperors and things of that type. Otherwise it would not be easy to get them read before the Historical

Association."

"I am sorry you are so narrow-minded. You want everything to stay in watertight

compartments. When will you get a synthetic view of things? Why should you think that poetry is

different from history?"

Chandran felt that he was being dragged into dangerous zones. He said: "Please let me know

what your subjects are."

"Why should a poem have any subject? Is it not enough that there it is in itself?"

Chandran was thoroughly mystified. He asked: "You write in English or in Tami l?"

"Of course in English. It is the language of the world."

"Why don't you read your poems before the Literary Association?"

"Ah, do you think any such thing is possible with grandmother Brown as its president? As long

as he is in this college no original work will ever be possible. He is very jealous, won't tolerate a pinch of

original work. Go and read before the Literary Association, for the two-hundredth time, a rehash of his

lecture notes on Wordsworth or Eighteenth-century Prose, and he will permit it. He won't stand anything

else."

"I should certainly like to read your poems myself, but I don't see how it will be possible before

the Association."

"If you have properly understood History as a record of human culture and development, you

can't fail to see poetry as an integral part of it. If poems are to be read anywhere, it must be before an

Historical Association."

When Chandran asked for permission to arrange this meeting, Ragavachar ruled it out. He

said that he did not care to have all sorts of versifiers come and contaminate the Association with their

stuff. As he conveyed the refusal to Mohan, Chandran felt a great pity for the poet. He liked the poet. He

was fascinated by his obscure statements. He desired to cultivate his friendship. He expressed his

willingness to have some of the poems read to him. The only time he could spare was the evening, after

the college was over. So the next evening he cancelled his walk and listened to verse. Ramu told

Chandran not to expect him to sit down and enjoy that kind of entertainment, and went away before

Mohan arrived.

Chandran hated his room in the evenings, but now-he resigned himself to suffer in the cause

of poetry.

Mohan came, with a bundle of typed sheets under his arm. After giving him a seat, Chandran

asked: "How many poems have you brought?"

"A selection of about twenty-five, that is all."

"I hope we can finish them before seven," said Chandran, "because at seven-thirty I have to

sit down to my studies."

"Oh, yes," said the poet, and began. He read far into the evening. The poems were on a wide

variety of subjects--from a Roadside Grass-seller to the Planet in Its Orbit; from Lines suggested by an

Ant to the Dying Musician. All conceivable things seemed to have incited Mohan to anger, gloom,

despair, and defiance. Some had rhymes, some had not; some had a beginning, some had no end,

some had no middle. But most of the poems mystified Chandran. After a time he gave up all attempt to

understand them. He sat passively, listening, as the poet read by the twi light. He sighed with relief when

the poet put down the twenty-fifth poem. The clock showed seven-fifteen. Chandran suggested a short

stroll.

Chandran had a slight headache. The poet was hoarse with reading. During the stroll

Chandran suggested, "Why don't you try to get some of the poems published in a paper?"

"By every post I receive my poems back," said the poet. "For the last five years I have been

trying to get my poems accepted. I have tried almost all the papers and magazines in the world--

England, America, Canada, South Africa, Australia, and our own country. I must have spent a fortune in

postage."

Chandran expressed his admiration for the other for still writing so much.

"I can no more help writing than I can help breathing," said the poet. "I shall go on writing till

my fingers are paralysed. Every day I write. I hardly read any of the class texts. I know I shall fai l. I don't

care. I hope some day I shall come across an editor or publisher who is not stupid."

"Oh, you will very soon be a famous man," said Chandran with conviction. in March Chandran

lost about six pounds in weight. He hardly thought of anything, saw anybody, or did anything, except

study. The college now existed only for the classroom, and the classroom only for the lectures.

Everybody in the college was very serious and purposeful. Even Gajapathi now devoted less of his time

to attacks on critics than to lectures that would be useful in the examination.

On the last day of the term there was an air of conclusion about everything. Every professor

and lecturer came to the end of his subject and closed his book. Brown shut Sophocles and ended the

year with the hope that his pupils' interest in literature would long survive the examination. He left the

class amid great cheering and clapping of hands. Gajapathi put away his copy of _Othello__, and hoped

that he had presented Shakespeare's mind clearly to his class; he also hoped that after the examination

they would all be in a position to form independent judgments of their own. The Professor of European

History closed the year with the League of Nations. The last period on the last day was Indian History.

Ragavachar growled out the full stop with a summary of the Montagu-Chelmsford Reforms, and left the

class after warning them not to disturb the other classes by cheering and clapping.

They had their Class Socials that evening. A group photo, with the Principal sitting in the

centre, was taken. A large lunch was eaten, and coffee drunk. Songs were sung, speeches were made,

everybody wished everybody else success in the examination; professors shook hands with the

students, and students shook hands with each other. Everybody was soft and sentimental. They did

everything short of shedding tears at the parting.

As they dispersed and went home, Chandran was aware that he had passed the very last

moments in his college life, which had filled the major portion of his waking hours for the last four years.

There would be no more college for him from to-morrow. He would return to it a fortnight hence for the

examination and (hoping for the best) pass it, and pass out into the world, for ever out of Albert College.

He felt very tender and depressed.

Part Two

CHAPTER 6

Within six months of becoming a graduate Chandran began to receive suggestions from

relatives and elderly friends of the family as to what he should do with himself. Till this time it had never

occurred to him that he ought to be doing anything at all. But now, wherever he went, he was pestered

with the question, "Now what do you propose to do?"

"I have not thought of anything yet."

"Why don't you go to Madras and study Law?" There was his uncle in Nellore who wrote to

him that he ought to do something and try to settle in life. There was his mother's cousin who advised

him to study Law. There was his Madras uncle who said that staying in Malgudi would not lead him

anywhere, but that he ought to go to a big city and see people. He had immense faith in seeing people.

He himself volunteered to give a letter of introduction to some big man, an auditor in the railways, who in

his turn give a further introduction to someone else, and finally fix up Chandran in the railways. This

uncle seemed to live in an endless dream of introductory letters. Several relatives, chiefly women, asked

him why he did not sit for the Indian Civil Service or the Indian Audit Service examination. Chandran felt

flattered by their faith in him. There were others who said that there was nothing like a business

occupation; start on a small capital and open a shop; independence and profit. All sorts of persons

advised him to apply for a clerk's post in some Government office. Nothing like Government service,

they said; on the first of the month you were sure of your money; security. Chandran had a feeling of

persecution. He opened his heart to his father when the latter was trimming the roses early one

morning.

"I am sorry, Father, that I ever passed the B. A."

"Why?"

"Why should everybody talk about my career? Why can't they mind their business?"

"It is the way of the world. You must not let that upset you. It is just a form of courtesy, you

see."

Then they began to talk of Chandran's future. His father gathered that Chandran had a vague

desire to go to England and do something there. He did not consider the plan absurd himself.

"What do you propose to do in England?"

"I want to get a doctorate or something and come back, and then some quiet lectureship in

some college will suit me wonderfully. Plenty of independence and leisure."

Aher that Chandran went about with a freer mind. To his persecutors he would say: "I am

going to England next year." Some demanded why he was not starting immediately. Chandran told

them: "We can't go to England on an impulse, can we?"

And now, without college or studies to fetter him, Chandran was enjoying a freedom he had

never experienced in his life before. From his infant class up to B. A., a period of over sixteen years, he

had known nothing like this holiday, which stretched over six months. He would have enjoyed this

freedom still more if Ramu had been there with him. After the results were announced Ramu

disappeared. He went away to Bombay in search of employment, and drifted all over Northern India

without securing any. Chandran re- ceived only one card informing him that Ramu had joined the law

course in Poona.

So Chandran was compelled to organize his life without Ramu. He became a member of the

Town Public Library, and read an enormous quantity of fiction and general literature. He discovered

Carlyle. He found that after all Shakespeare had written some stirring dramas, and that several poets

were not as dull as they were made out to be. There was no scheme or order in his study. He read

books just as they came. He read a light humorist and switched on to Carlyle, and from there pounced

on Shakespeare, and then wandered to Shaw and Wells. The thing that mattered most to him was that

the book should be enjoyable, and he ruthlessly shut books that threatened to bore him.

After spending a large part of the day with books he went out in the evening for long walks,

necessarily alone, since most of his friends had gone away. He went on long rambles by the river,

returned home late, and sat up for an hour 01 two chatting with his parents, and then read a little in bed.

As he settled down to this routine he got used to it and enjoyed this quiet life. Every day as he went

through one item he eagerly looked forward to the next, and then the next, till he looked forward to the

delicious surge of sleep as he put away his book for the night. chapter 7 it was on one of his river

ramblings that he met Malathi and thought that he would not have room for anything else in his mind. No

one can explain the attraction between two human beings. It happens.

One evening he came to the river, and was loafing along it, when he saw a girl, about fifteen

years old, playing with her younger sister on the sands. Chandran had been in the habit of staring at

every girl who sat on the sand, but he had never felt before the acute interest he felt in this girl now. He

liked the way she sat; he liked the way she played with her sister; he liked the way she dug her hands

into the sand and threw it in the air. He paused only for a moment to observe the girl. He would have

willingly settled there and spent the rest of his life watching her dig her hands into the sand. But that

could not be done. There were a lot of people about.

He passed on. He went forward a few paces and wanted to turn back and take another look at

the girl. But that could not be done. He felt that the scores of persons squatting on the sand were all

watching him.

He went on his usual walk down to Nallappa's Grove, crossed the river, went up the opposite

bank, and away into the fields there; but he caught himself more than once thinking of the girl. How old

was she? Probably fourteen. Might be even fifteen or sixteen. If she was more than fourteen she must

be married. There was a touch of despair in this thought. What was the use of thinking of a married girl?

It would be very improper. He tried to force his mind to think of other things. He tried to engage it in his

favourite subject--his trip to England in the coming year. If he was going to England how was he to

dress himself? He had better get used to tie and shoes and coat and hat and knife and fork. He would

get a first-class degree in England and come back and marry. What was the use of thinking of a married

girl? Probably she was not married. Her parents were very likely rational and modern, people who

abhorred the custom of rushing a young child into marriage. He tried to analyse why he was thinking of

her. Why did he think of her so much? Was it her looks? Was she so good-looking as all that? Who

could say? He hadn't noticed her before. Then how could he say that she was the most beautiful girl in

the world? When did he say that? Didn't he? If not, why was he thinking of her so much? Chandran was

puzzled, greatly puzzled by the whole thing.

He wondered next what her name might be. She looked like one with the name of Lakshmi.

Quite a beautiful name, the name of the Goddess of Wealth, the spouse of God Vishnu, who was the

Protector of Creatures.

That night he went home very preoccupied. It was at five o'clock that he had met her, and at

nine he was still thinking of her.

After dinner he did not squat on the carpet in the hall, but preferred to go to his room and

remain alone there. He tried to read a little; he was in the middle of Wells's _Tono Bungay__. He had

found the book gripping, but now he felt it was obtrusive. He was irritated. He put away the book and sat

staring at the wall. He presently realized that darkness would be more soothing. He blew out the lamp

and sat in his chair. Suppose, though unmarried, she belonged to some other caste? A marriage would

not be tolerated even between sub-sects of the same caste. If India was to attain salvation these

watertight divisions must go--Community, Caste, Sects, Sub-sects, and still further divisions. He felt very

indignant. He would set an example himself by marrying this girl whatever her caste or sect might be.

The next day he shaved with great care and paid a great deal of attention to his hair, and

awaited the evening. When evening came he put on his chocolate-coloured tweed coat and started out.

At five he was on the river bank, squatting on the sand near the spot where he had seen the girl the

previous day. He sat there for over two hours. The girl did not come. Dozens of other townspeople came

to the river and sprawled all over the place, but not that girl. Chandran rose and walked along, peering

furtively at every group. It was a very keen search, but it brought forth nothing. Why wasn't she there?

His heart beat fast at the sight of every figure that approached the river clad in a _sari__. It was sevenforty-

five when he set his face homeward, feeling that his brilliantine, shave, ironed tweed coat, were all

wasted.

The next day he again went to the river and again waited till seven-forty-five in the evening,

and went home dispirited. He tossed in bed all night. In moments of half-wakefulness he whispered the

word "Lakshmi,"

"Lakshmi." He suddenly pulled himself up and laughed at himself: it looked as if the girl had

paid a first and last visit to the river, and it seemed more than likely that she belonged to another caste,

and was married. What a fool he was to go on thinking of her night and day for three whole days. It was

a ridiculous obsession. His sobriety ought to assert itself now. An idle brain was the devil's workshop.

Too true. A brain given rest for over nine months brought one to this state.

He rose in the morning with a haggard face. His mother asked him if he was not well.

Chandran felt that some explanation was due and said he had a terrible headache. His mother, standing

two inches shorter than he, put out her hands, stroked his temples, gave him special coffee, and

advised him to stay at home the whole day. Chandran felt that nothing could be better than that. He

decided not to shave or comb his hair or wear a coat and go out. For he feared that if he went out he

might be tempted to go on the foolish quest.

He stayed in his room all day. His father came in at midday and kept him company. He sat in

the chair and talked of this and that. Chandran all of a sudden realized that he had better leave Malgudi.

That would solve the prciblem.

"Father, will you let me go to Madras?"

"By all means, if you'd like a change."

"I suppose it will be very hot there?"

"Must be. The saying is that Madras is hot for ten months in the year and hotter for two."

"Then I don't want to go and fry myself there," said Chandran.

"Try some other place. You can go to your aunt at Bangalore."

"No, no. She will keep telling me what jewels she has got for her daughter. I can't stand her."

He decided that he would stay in the best place on earth, home.

Mother came in at about three o'clock to ask how he was feeling. Seenu came in at four-thirty,

as soon as school was over, and stood near Chandran's bed, staring at him si lently.

"What is it?" Chandran asked.

"Nothing. Why are you in bed?"

"Never mind why. What is the news in the school?"

"We are playing against the Y. M. U. on Saturday. After that we are meeting the Board School

Eleven. What we can't understand is why the captain has left out Mohideen. He is bound to have a lot of

trouble over that. People are prepared to take it up to the Headmaster."

He could not stay in bed beyond six-thirty. He got up, opened all the windows, washed his

face, combed his hair, put on a coat (not the tweed one), and went out. What he needed, he told

himself, was plenty of fresh air and exercise and things to think about. Since he wanted exercise he decided

to avoid the riverside. The place, he persuaded himself, was stale and crowded. He wished to-day

to take a walk at the very opposite end of the town, the Trunk Road. He walked a mile along the Trunk

Road and turned back. He hurried back across Lawley Extension, Market Road, and the North Street,

and reached the river. It was dark and most people had gone home. Chandran saw her at the river bank

next evening. She was wearing a green _sari__, and playing with her little companion. Chandran saw

her from a distance and went towards her as if drawn by a rope. But, on approaching her, his courage

failed him, and he walked away in the opposite direction. Presently he stopped and blamed himself for

wasting a good opportunity of making his person familiar to her; he turned once again with the intention

of passing before her closely, slowly, and deliberately. At a distance he could look at her, but when he

came close he felt self-conscious and awkward, and while passing actually in front of her he bent his

head, fixed his gaze on the ground, and walked fast. He was away, many yards away, from her in a

moment. He checked his pace once again and looked back for a fraction of a second, and was quite

thrilled at the sight of the green sari in the distance. He did not dare to look longer; for he was obsessed

with the feeling that he was being observed by the whole crowd on the river bank.... He hoped that she

had observed him. He hoped that she had noted his ironed coat. He stood there and debated with

himself whether she had seen him or not. One part of him said that she could not have observed him,

because he had walked very fast and because there were a lot of people passing and repassing on the

sand. Chandran steadily discouraged this sceptical half of his mind, and lent his whole-hearted support

to the other half, which was saying that just as he had noticed her in a crowd she was sure to have

noticed him. Destiny always worked that way. His well-ironed chocolate tweed was sure to invite notice.

He hoped that he didn't walk clumsily in front of her. He again told himself she must have noticed that he

was not like the rest of the crowd. And so why should he not now go and occupy a place that would be

close to her and in the direct line of her vision? Staring was half the victory in love. His sceptical half

now said that by this procedure he might scare her off the river for ever; but, said the other half, tomorrow

she may not come to the river at all, and if you don't start an eye friendship immediately, you

may not get the opportunity again for a million years.... He was engaged in this internal controversy

when he received a slap on the back and saw Veeraswami and Mohan, his old classmates, behind him.

"How are you, Chandran? It seems years since we met."

"We met only last March, less than a year, you know," said Chandran.

Mohan asked: "Chandran, do you remember the evening we spent in your room, reading

poetry?"

"Yes, yes. What have you done with your poems?"

"They are still with me."

Bachelor of Arts 37 R. K. Narayan

Chandran felt all his courtesy exhausted. He was not keen on reunions just then. He tried to

get away. But Veeraswami would not let him go: "A year since we met. I have been dying to see an old

classmate, and you want to cut me! Won't you come and have a little coffee with us in some

restaurant?" He hooked his arm in Chandran's and dragged him along. Chandran tried to resist, and

then said: "Let us go this way. I promised to meet somebody. I must see if he is there...." He pointed

down the river, past the spot of green _sari__. They went in that direction. Mohan inquired three times

what Chandran was doing and received no reply; Veeraswami was talking without a pause. Chandran

pretended to listen to him, but constantly turned his head to his left and stole glances at something

there; he had to do this without being noticed by his friends. Finally, when he passed before her, he

looked at her for so short a space of time that she appeared only as a passing green blur.... Before

leaving the river bank he looked back twice only. He heartily disliked his companions.

"What are you doing now, Chandran?" Mohan asked, undefeated.

"Nothing at present. I am going to England in a few months."

At this Veeraswami started a heated discourse on the value of going to England. "What have

we to learn from the English? I don't know when this craze for going to England will stop. It is a drain on

the country's resources. What have we to learn from the English?"

"I may be going there to teach them something," said Chandran. Even granted that she had

not noticed him the first time, she couldn't have helped noticing him when he passed before her again;

that was why he didn't look at her fully; he didn't want to embarrass her by meeting her gaze.

"Shall we go to the 'Welcome'?" Veeraswami asked.

They had now left the river and were in North Street.

"Anywhere," Chandran said mechanically.

"You seem to be worried over something," Veeraswami said.

"Oh, nothing. I am sorry." Chandran pulled himself up resolutely.

Here were two fellows eager for his company, and he had no business to be absorbed in

distant thoughts.

"Forgive me," he said again.

They were now before the 'Welcome Restaurant', a small, smoky building, from which the

smell of sweets and burning ghee assailed the nostrils of passers-by in the street.

They sat round an oily table in the dark hall. Serving boys were shouting menus and bills and

were dashing hither and thither. A server came and asked: "What will you have, sir?"

"What shall we have?"

"What will you have?"

"I want only coffee."

"Have something with it."

"Impossible. Only coffee."

"Bring three cups of coffee, good, strong."

Chandran asked: "What are you doing, Mohan? Did you get through?"

"No. I failed, and my uncle cut me. I am now the Malgudi correspondent of the _Daily

Messenger__ of Madras. They have given me the whole district. They pay me three-eight per column of

twenty-one inches."

"Are you making much money?"

"Sometimes fifty, sometimes ten. It all depends on those rascals, mad fellows. Sometimes

they cut everything that I send."

"It is a moderate paper," Veeraswami said jeeringly.

"I am not concerned with their policy," Mohan said.

"What are you doing?" Chandran asked, turning to Veeraswami.

"It will take a whole day for me to tell you. I am starting a movement called the Resurrection

Brigade. I am touring about a lot on that business."

"What is the brigade?"

"It is only an attempt to prepare the country for revolution. Montagu-Chelmsford reform. Simon

Report, and what not, are all a fraud. Our politicians, including the Congressmen, are playing into the

hands of the Imperialists. The Civil Disobedience Movement is a childish business. Our brigade will gain

the salvation of our country by an original method. Will you join it? Mohan is already a member."

Chandran promised to think it over, and asked what they expected Mohan to do for the

movement.

"Everything. We want everybody there, poets, philosophers, musicians, sculptors, and

swordsmen."

"What is its strength now?"

"About twenty-five have so far signed the brigade pledge. I expect that in two years we shall

have a membership of fifty thousand in South India alone."

They finished their coffee and rose. They went back to the river, smoked cigarettes, and

talked all the evening. Before parting, Chandran promised to see them again and asked them where

they lived.

"I am staying with Mohan," said Veeraswami.

"Where do you live, Mohan?"

"Room 14, Modern Indian Lodge, Mill Street."

"Right. I shall drop in sometime," said Chandran.

"I won't be in town after Tuesday. I am going into the country for six months," said

Veeraswami. Chandran realized that friends and acquaintances were like to prove a nuisance to him by

the river. He decided to cut every one hereafter. With this resolution he went to the Sarayu bank next

evening. He also decided to be very bold, and indifferent to the public's observation and criticism. She

was there with her little companion.

Chandran went straight to a spot just thirty yards from where she sat, and settled down there.

He had determined to stare at her this evening. He might even throw in an elegant wink or smile. He

was going to stare at her and take in a lot of details regarding her features. He had not made out yet

whether she was fair or light brown; whether she had long hair or short, and whether her eyes were

round or almond-shaped; and he had also some doubts about her nose.

He sat at this thirty yards range and kept throwing at her a side glance every fifth second. He

noticed that she played a great deal with her little companion. He wanted to go to her and ask whether

the little companion was her sister or cousin and how old she was. But he abandoned the idea. A man

of twenty-two going up and conversing with a grown-up girl, a perfect stranger, would be affording a

very uncommon sight to the public. this optical communion became a daily habit. His powers of

observation and deduction increased tremendously. He gathered several facts about the girl. She wore

a dark _sari__ and a green _sari__ alternatively. She came to the river chiefly for the sake of her little

companion. She was invariably absent on Fridays and came late on Wednesdays. Chandran concluded

from this that the girl went to the temple on Friday evenings, and was delayed by a music master or a

stitching master on Wednesdays. He further gathered that she was of a religious disposition, and was

accomplished in the art of music or embroidery. From her regularity he concluded that she was of

person of very systematic habits. The fact that she played with her young companion showed that she

had a loving disposition. He concluded that she had no brothers, since not a single soul escorted her on

any evening.

Encouraged by this conclusion, he wondered if he should not stop her and talk to her when

she rose to go home. He might even accompany her to her house. That might become a beautiful habit.

What wonderful things he would have to say to her. When the traffic of the town had died, they could

walk together under the moon or in magic starlight. He would stop a few yards from her house. What a

parting of sweetness and pain!... It must be noted that in this dream the young companion did not exist,

or, if she did, she came to the river and went home all by herself.

An evening of this optical fulfilment filled him with tranquillity. He left the river and went home

late in the evening, meditating on God, and praying to Him with concentration that He would bless this

romance with success. All night he repeated her name, "Lakshmi," and fervently hoped that her soul

heard his call through the night. he had lived for over a month in a state of bliss, notwithstanding his

ignorance. He began to feel now that he ought to be up and doing and get a little more practical. He

could not go on staring at her on the sands all his life. He must know all about her.

He followed her at a distance of about half a furlong on a dark evening when she returned

home from the river. He saw her enter a house in Mill Street. He paced before the house slowly, twice,

slowing up to see if there was any board before the house. There was none.

He remembered suddenly that Mohan lived in Mi ll Street. Room number 14, Modern Indian

Lodge, he had said. He went up and down the street in search of the hotel. At last he found it was the

building opposite the girl's house. There was a signboard, but that could not be seen in the dark. Room

number 14 was half a cubicle on the staircase landing. The cubicle was divided by a high wooden

partition into Room 14 and Room 15.

Mohan was delighted to receive Chandran.

"Is Veeraswami gone?" Chandran asked.

"Weeks ago," replied Mohan.

There was not a single table or chair in the room. Mohan lived on a striped carpet spread on

the floor. He sat on it reclining against the wooden partition. There was a yellow trunk in a corner of the

room, on which a shining nickel flower-base was kept with some paper flowers in it. The room received

its light and venti lation from the single window in Room 15, over the wooden partition. A bright gas lamp

hung over the wooden partition and shed its greenish glare impartially on Room 14 and Room 15.

"Would you believe it? I have never been in this street before," said Chandran.

"Indeed! But why should you come here? You live at the south end while this is the east end

of the town."

"I like this street," Chandran said. "I wonder why this is called Mill Street. Are all the people

that live here mill-owners?"

"Nothing of the kind. Years ago there were two weaving mills at the end of the street. There

are all sorts of people here."

"Oh. Any particularly important person?"

"None that I can think of."

It was on Chandran's lips, at this point, to ask who lived in the opposite house. But he merely

said that he wished to meet his friend oftener in his room.

"I go out news-hunting at ten in the morning and return at about four, after posting my letters. I

do not usually go out after that. You can come any time you please," said Mohan.

"Have you no holidays?"

"On Sundays we have no paper. And so on Saturday I have a holiday. I spend the whole day

in the room. Please do come any time you like, and as often as you like."

"Thanks, thanks. I have absolutely no company. I shall be delighted to come here frequently."

CHAPTER 8

Through Mohan's co-operation Chandran learnt that his sweetheart's name was Malathi, that

she was unmarried, and that she was the daughter of Mr. D. W. Krishna Iyer, Head Clerk in the

Executive Engineer's office.

The suffix to the name of the girl's father was a comforting indication that he was of the same

caste and sub-caste as Chandran. Chandran shuddered at the thought of all the complications that he

would have had to face if the gentleman had been Krishna lyengar, or Krishna Rao, or Krishna Mudaliar.

His father would certainly cast him off if he tried to marry out of caste.

Chandran took it all as a favourable sign, as an answer to his prayers, which were growing

intenser every day. In each fact, that Mohan lived in the hotel opposite her house, that she was

unmarried, that her father was an "Iyer," Chandran felt that God was revealing Himself.

Chandran prayed to God to give him courage, and went to his father to talk to him about his

marriage. His courage failed him at the last moment, and he went away after discussing some fatuous

subject. The next day he again went to his father with the same resolution and again lapsed into fatuity.

He went back to his room and regretted his cowardice. He would be unworthy of Malathi if he was going

to be such a spineless worm. Afraid of a father! He was not a baby asking for a toy, but a full-grown

adult out on serious business, very serious business. It was very doubtful if a squirming coward would

be any good to Malathi as a husband.

He went back to his father, who was on the veranda reading something. Mother had gone out

to see some friends; Seenu had gone to school. This was the best time to talk to Father confidentially.

Father put down the book on seeing Chandran, and pulled the spectacles from over his nose.

Chandran drew a chair close to Father's easy chair.

"Have you read this book, Chandran?"

Chandran looked at it--some old novel, Dickens. "No." At another time he would have added,

"I hate Dickens's laborious humour," and involved himself in a debate. But now he merely said, "I will try

to read it later." He did not want to throw away precious time in literary discussions.

"Father, please don't mistake me. I want to marry D. W. Krishna Iyer's daughter."

Father put on his spectacles and looked at his son with a frown. He sat up and asked: "Who is

he?"

"Head clerk in the Executive Engineer's office."

"Why do you want to marry his daughter?"

"I like her."

"Do you know the girl?"

"Yes. I have seen her often."

"Where?"

Chandran told him.

"Have you spoken to each other?"

"No...."

"Does she know you?"

"I don't know."

Father laughed, and it cut into Chandran's soul.

Father asked: "In that case why this girl alone and not any other?"

Chandran said: "I like her," and left Father's company abruptly as Father said: "I don't know

anything about these things. I must speak to your mother."

Later Mother came into Chandran's room and asked, "What is all this?" Chandran answered

with an insolent silence.

"Who is this girl?" There was great anxiety in her voice.

Chandran told her. She was very disappointed. A Head Clerk's daughter was not what she

had hoped to get for her son. "Chandar, why won't you consider any of the dozens of girls that have

been proposed to you?"

Chandran rejected this suggestion indignantly.

"But suppose those girls are richer and more beautiful?"

"I don't care. I shall marry this girl and no one else."

"But how are you sure they are prepared to give their daughter to you?"

"They will have to."

"Extraordinary! Do you think marriage is a child's game? We don't know anything about them,

who they are, what they are, what they are worth, if the stars and the other things about the girl are all

right, and above all, whether they are prepared to marry their girl at all...."

"They will have to. I hear that this season she will be married because she is getting on for

sixteen."

"Sixteen!" mother screamed. "They can't be all right if they have kept the girl unmarried till

sixteen. She must have attained puberty ages ago. They can't be all right. We have a face to keep in

this town. Do you think it is all child's play?" She left the room in a temper. in a few days this hostility had

to be abandoned, because Chandran's parents could not bear for long the sight of an unhappy

Chandran. For his sake they were prepared to compromise to this extent: they were prepared to

consider the proposal if it came from the other side. Whatever happened they would not take the

initiative in the matter; for they belonged to the bridegroom's side, and according to time-honoured

practice it was the bride's people who proposed first. Anything done contrary to this would make them

the laughing-stock of the community.

Chandran raved: "To the dust-pot with your silly customs."

But his mother replied that she at any rate belonged to a generation which was in no way

worse than the present one for all its observances; and as long as she lived she would insist on

respecting the old customs. Ordinary talk at home was becoming rarer every day. It was always a

debate on Custom and Reason. His father usually remained quiet during these debates. One of the

major mysteries in life for Chandran at this period was the question as to which side his father favoured.

He did not appear to place active obstacles in Chandran's way, but he did little else. He appeared to

distrust his own wisdom in these matters and to have handed the full rein to his wife. Chandran once or

twice tried to sound him and gain him to his side; but he was evasive and non-committal.

Chandran's only support and consolation at this juncture was Mohan. To his room he went

every night after dinner.

This visit was not entirely from an unmixed motive. While on his way he could tarry for a while

before her house and gladden his heart with a sight of her under the hall-lamp as she passed from one

part of the house to another. Probably she was going to bed; blessed be those pillows. Or probably she

went in and read; ah, blessed books with the touch of her hands on them. He would often speculate

what hour she would go to bed, what hour she would rise, and how she lay down and slept and how her

bed looked. Could he not just dash into the house, hide in the passage, steal up to her bed at night,

crush her in his arms, and carry her away?

If it happened to be late, and the lights in the house were put out, he would walk distractedly

up and down before the house, and then go to Room 14 of the Modern Indian Lodge.

Mohan would put away whatever poem he was writing. But for him Chandran would have

been shrivelled up by the heat of a hopeless love. Mohan would put away his pad, and clear a space on

the carpet for Chandran.

Chandran would give him the latest bulletin from the battle front, and then pass on to a

discussion of theories.

"If the girl's father were called something other than a Head Clerk, and given a hundred more

to his pay, I am sure your parents would move heaven and earth to secure this alliance," said the poet.

"Why should we be cudgelled and nose-led by our elders?" Chandran asked indignantly.

"Why can't we be allowed to arrange our lives as we please? Why can't they leave us to rise or sink on

our own ideals?"

These were mighty questions; and the poet tackled them in his own way. "Money is the

greatest god in life. Father and mother and brother do not care for anything but your money. Give them

money and they will leave you alone. I am just writing a few lines entitled 'Moneylove'. It is free verse.

You must hear it. I have dedicated it to you." Mohan picked up the pad and read: "The parents love you,

you thought.

No, no, not you, my dear.

They've loved nothing less for its own sake.

They fed you and petted you and pampered you Because some day they hope you wi ll bring

them money; Much money, so much and more and still more; Because some day, they hope, you'll earn

a Bride who'll bring much money, so much and More and still more--"

There were two more stanzas in the same strain. It brought the tears to Chandran's eyes. He

hated his father and mother. He took this poem with him when he went home.

He gave it to his father next day. Father read through it twice and asked with a dry smile: "Did

you write this?"

"Never mind the authorship," Chandran said.

"Do you believe what these lines say?"

"I do," said Chandran, and did not stay there for further talk.

When he was gone Father explained the poem to Mother, who began to cry. Father calmed

her and said: "This is what he seems to feel. I don't know what to do."

"We have promised to consider it if it is made from that side. What more can we do?"

"I don't know."

"They seem to be thorough rogues. The marriage season has already begun. Why can't they

approach us? They expect Chandran to go to them, touch their feet, and beg them for their girl."

"They probably do not know that Chandran is available," said Father.

"Why do you defend them? They can't be ignorant of the existence of a possible bridegroom

like Chandran. That man, the girl's father, seems to be a deep man. He is playing a deep game. He is

waiting for our boy to go to him, when he can get a good husband for his daughter without giving a

dowry and without an expensive wedding.... This boy Chandra is talking nonsense. This is what we get

from our children for all our troubles.... I am in a mood to let him do anything he likes.... But what more

can we do? I shall drown myself in Sarayu before I allow any proposal to go from here."

CHAPTER 9

Chandran's parents sent for Ganapathi Sastrigal, who was match-maker in general to a few

important families in Malgudi. He had a small income from his lands in the village; he was once a third

clerk in a Collector's Office, which also gave him now a two-digit pension. After retiring from

Government service he settled down as a general adviser, officiating priest at rituals, and a matchmaker.

He confined his activities to a few rich families in the town.

He came next day in the hot sun, and went straight into the kitchen, where Chandran's mother

was preparing some sweets.

"Oh, come in, come in," Chandran's mother exclaimed on seeing him. "Why have you been

neglecting us so long? It is over a year since you came to our house."

"I had to spend some months in the village. There was some dispute about the lands; and

also some arrears had to be collected from the tenants. I tell you lands are a curse...."

"Oh, you are standing," she cried, and said to the cook, "Take a sitting-board and give it to

him."

"No, no, no. Don't trouble yourself. I can sit on the floor," said the old man. He received the

proffered sitting-board, but gently put it away and sat on the floor.

"Won't you take a little tiffin and coffee?" Chandran's mother asked.

"Oh, no. Don't trouble yourself. I have just had it all in my house. Don't trouble yourself."

"Absolutely no trouble," she said, and set before him a plate of sweets and a tumbler of

coffee.

He ate the sweets slowly, and poured the coffee down his throat, holding the tumbler high

over his lips. He said: "I have taken this because you have put it before me, and I don't like to see

anything wasted. My digestion is not as good as it was before I had the jaundice. I recently showed

myself to a doctor, Doctor Kesavan. I wonder if you know him? He is the son-in-law of Raju of

Trichinopoly, whom I have known since his boyhood. The doctor said that I must give up tamarind and

use only lemon in its place...."

Afterwards he followed her out of the kitchen to the back veranda of the house. Chandran's

mother spread a mat before him and requested him to sit on it, and opened the subject.

"Do you know D. W. Krishna Iyer's family?"

The old man sat thinking for a while, and then said: "D. W. Krishnan; you mean Coimbatore

Appayi's nephew, the fellow who is in the Executive Engineer's office? I have known their family for

three generations."

"I am told that he has a daughter ready for marriage."

The old man remained very thoughtful and said: "Yes, it is true. He has a daughter old enough

to have a son, but not yet married."

"Why is it so? Anything wrong with the family?"

"Absolutely nothing," replied the old man. He now saw he ought not to be critical in his

remarks. He tried to mend his previous statement. "Absolutely nothing. Anyone that says such a thing

will have a rotting tongue. The girl is only well-grown, and I don't think she is as old as she looks. She

can't be more than fifteen. This has become the standard age for girls nowadays. Everybody holds

advanced views in these days. Even in an ancient and orthodox family like Sadasiva Iyer's they married

a girl recently at fifteen!"

This was very comforting to Chandran's mother. She asked: "Do you think that it is a good

family?"

"D. W. Krishnan comes of a very noble family. His father was..." The Sastrigal went on giving

an impressive history of the family, ranging over three generations. "If Krishnan is now only a Head

Clerk it is because when he came into the property his elder brothers had squandered all of it and left

only debts and encumbrances. Krishnan was rocked in a golden cradle when he was young, but

became the foster-son of Misfortune after his father died. It is all fate. Who can foresee what is going to

happen?"

After two hours of talk he left the house on a mission; that was to go to D. W. Krishna Iyer's

house and ascertain if they were going to marry their girl this season, and to move them to take the

initiative in a proposal for an alliance with Chandran's family. The old man was to give out that he was

acting independently, and on his own initiative. next day Ganapathi Sastrigal came with good news. As

soon as Chandran's mother saw him at the gate she cried: "Sastrigal has come!"

As soon as he climbed the veranda steps Chandran's father said: "Ah, come in, come in,

Sastriar," and pushed a chair towards him. The Sastrigal sat on the edge of the chair, wiped the sweat

off his nape with his upper cloth, and said to Mother: "Summer has started very early this year.... Do you

cool water in a mud jug?"

"Certainly, otherwise it is impossible to quench our thirst in summer. It is indispensable."

"If that is so, please ask your cook to bring me a tumbler of jug water."

"You must drink some coffee."

"Don't trouble yourself. Water will do."

"Will you take a little tiffin?"

"No, no. Give me only water. Don't trouble yourself about coffee or tiffin."

"Absolutely no trouble," said Mother, and went in and returned with a tumbler of coffee.

"You are putting yourself to great trouble bringing me this coffee," said the old man, taking the tumbler.

"Have you any news for us?" she asked.

"Plenty, plenty," said the old man. "I went to D. W. Krishnan's house this morning; as you may

already know, we have known each other for three generations. He was not at home when I went. He

had gone to see his officer or on some such work, but his wife was there. She asked her daughter to

spread a mat for me, and then sent her in to bring me coffee. I am simply fi lled with coffee everywhere. I

drank the coffee and gave the tumbler back to the girl.... She is a smart girl; stands very tall, and has a

good figure. Her skin is fair; may be called fair, though not as fair as that of our lady here; but she is by

no means to be classed as a dark girl. Her mother says that the girl has just completed her fourteenth

year." Chandran's mother felt a great load off her mind now. She wouldn't have to marry her son to a girl

over sixteen, and incur the comments of the community.

"I knew all along that there couldn't be truth in what people said..." she said.

"And then we talked of one thing and another," said the Sastrigal, "and the subject came to

marriage. You can take it from me that they are going to marry their girl this season. She will certainly

be married in _Panguni__ month. Just as I was thinking of going, Krishnan came in. He is a very good

fellow. He showed me the regard due to my age, and due to me for my friendship with his father and

uncles. He is very eager to complete the marriage this season. He asked me to help him to secure a

bridegroom. I suggested two or three others and then your son. I may tell you that he thinks he will be

extraordinarily blessed if he can secure an alliance with your family. He feels you may not stoop to his

status."

"Status! Status!" Chandran's mother exclaimed. "We have seen with these very eyes people

who were rich once, but are in the streets now, and such pranks of fate. What a foolish notion to

measure status with money. It is here to-day and gone to-morrow. What I would personally care for

most in any alliance would be character and integrity."

"That I can guarantee," said the Sastrigal. "When I mentioned this family, the lady was greatly

elated. She seems to know you all very well. She even said that she and you were related. It seems that

your maternal grandfather's first wife and her paternal grandfather were sister and brother, not cousins,

but direct sister and brother."

"Ah, I did not know that. I am so happy to hear it." She then asked: "Have you any idea how

much they are prepared to spend?"

"Yes. I got it out in a manner; very broadly, of course; but that will do for the present. I think

they are prepared to give a cash dowry of about two thousand rupees, silver vessels and presents up to

a thousand, and spend about a thousand on the wedding celebrations. These will be in addition to about

a thousand worth of diamond and gold on the girl."

Chandran's mother was slightly disappointed at the figures. "We can settle all that later."

"Quite right," said the old man. "To-morrow, if everything is auspicious, they will send you the

girl's horoscope. We shall proceed with the other matters after comparing the horoscopes. I am certain

that this marriage will take place very soon. Even as I started for their house a man came bearing pots

of foaming toddy; it is an excellent omen. I am certain that this alliance will be completed."

"Why bother with horoscopes?" asked Chandran's father. "Personally, I have no faith in

them."

"You must not say that," said the Sastrigal. "How are we to know whether two persons

brought together will have health, happiness, harmony, and long life, if we do not study their horoscopes

individually and together?" Chandran felt very happy that her horoscope was coming. He imagined that

the very next thing after the horoscope would be marriage. The very fact that they were willing to send

the girl's horoscope for comparison proved that they were not averse to this alliance. They were

probably goaded on by the girl. He had every reason to believe that the girl had told her parents she

would marry Chandran and no one else. But how could she know him or his name? Girls had a knack of

learning of these things by a sort of sixth sense.

How splendid of her to speak out her mind like this, brave girl. If her mind matched her form, it

must be one of the grandest things in the world-- The thought of her melted him. He clutched his pillow

and cried in the darkness: "Darling, what are you doing? Do you hear me?"

In these days he met her less often at the river, but he made it up by going to Mill Street and

wandering in front of her house until her form passed under the hall light. He put down her absence at

the river to her desire to save Chan-dran's reputation. She felt, Chandran thought, that seeing him every

day at the river would give rise to gossip. Such a selfless creature. Would rather sacrifice her evening's

outing than subject Chandran to gossip. Chandran had no doubt that she was going to be the most

perfect wife a man could ever hope to get.

As he sauntered in front of her house, Chandran would often ask God when His grace would

bend low so that Chandran might cease to be a man in the street and stride into the house as a son-inlaw.

After they were married, he would tell her everything. They would sit in their creeper-covered vi lla

on the hill-slope, just those two, and watch the sun set. In the afterglow of the evening he would tell her

of his travails, and they would both laugh.

The next day Ganapathi Sastrigal did not come, and Chandran began to think wild things.

What was the matter? Had they suddenly backed out?

The horoscope was not sent on the next day either. Chandran asked his mother every halfhour

if it had come, and finally suggested that some one should be sent to bring it. When this suggestion

reached Father's ears, he asked: "Why don't you yourself go and ask them for a copy of the girl's

horoscope?"

Chandran's mind being in a state of lowered efficiency, he asked eagerly: "Shall I? I thought I

shouldn't do it."

Father laughed and told it to Mother, who became scared and said: "Chandra, please don't do

it. It would be a very curious procedure. They will send the horoscope themselves."

Father said to Chandran: "Look here, you will never be qualified to marry unless you cultivate

a lot of patience. It is the only power that you will be allowed to exercise when you are married."

Mother looked at Father suspiciously and said: "Will you kindly make your meaning clearer?"

Chandran went to his room in a very distracted state. He tried to read a novel, but his mind

kept wandering. Seenu, his younger brother, came in and asked: "Brother, are you not well?" He could

not understand what was wrong with Chandran. He very much missed Chandran's company in the afterdinner

chatting group; he very much missed his supervision, though it had always been aggressive.

Chandran looked at him without giving any answer. Seenu wanted to ask if his brother was about to be

married, but he was too shy to mention a thing like marriage. So he asked if Chandran was unwell.

Chandran answered, after the question was repeated: "I am quite well; why?"

"You don't look well."

"Quite likely."

"That is all I wanted to know. Because Mother said that you were going to be married."

There was no obvious connection between the two, but Seenu felt he had led on to the

delicate topic with cunning diplomacy.

Chandran asked: "Boy, would you like to have a sister-in-law?"

Seenu slunk behind the chair with shame at this question.

Chandran made it worse by asking: 'Would you like a sister-in-law to be called Malathi?"

At this Seenu was so abashed that he ran out of the room, leaving Chandran to the torture of

his thoughts and worries. when the horoscope did not come on the next day, Chandran went to Mohan

and asked: "Why should I not go to Mr. Krishna Iyer and ask for it?"

Mohan replied: "Why have you not done it already?"

"I thought that it might be irregular."

"Would it be different now?"

Chandran remained silent. His special pride in the conducting of his romance so far was that

he had not committed the slightest irregularity at any time. He felt that he could easily have talked to her

when she was alone on the sands; he could have tried to write to her; he could have befriended Mr.

Krishna Iyer and asked him for the hand of his daughter; and he could have done a number of other

things, but he didn't, for the sake of his parents; he wanted everything to be done in the correct,

orthodox manner.

Mohan said: "I don't care for orthodoxy and correctness myself. But since you care for those

things, at least for the sake of your parents keep it up and don't do anything rashly now."

But Chandran wailed that they had not sent the horoscope. What could it mean except

coldness on their part?

Mohan said: "Till they show some more solid proof of their coldness we ought not to do

anything."

Chandran rested in gloom for a while and then came out with a bright idea: "I have got to

know the girl's father, and you must help me."

"How?"

"You are a newspaper correspondent, and you have access everywhere. Why don't you go to

his house on some work; say that you want some news connected with the Engineering Department.

People are awfully nice to newspaper correspondents."

"They are. But where do you come in?"

"You can take me along with you and introduce me to him. You may even say that I am your

assistant."

"I low is that going to help you?"

"You had better leave that to me."

"There is absolutely no excuse for me to go and see him."

"There is a rumour of a bridge over Sarayu, near Nal-lappa s Grove. You must know if it is

true. Engineering Department." Mohan realized that love sharpened the wits extraordinarily.

While walking home Chandran formulated a perfect scheme for interviewing Mr. D. W.

Krishna Iyer. He would do it without Mohan's help. The scheme that he had suggested to Mohan fired

his imagination. Chandran decided to go and knock on the door of Krishna Iyer's house. Malathi would

open the door. He would ask her if her father was in, and tell her he was there in order to know if it was

a fact that there was going to be a bridge over Sarayu; he could tell her he would call in again and go

away. This would help him to see her at close quarters, and to decide once for all whether her eyes

were round or almond-shaped, and whether her complexion was light brown or dusky translucence. He

might even carry a small camera with him and take a snap- shot of her. For one of the major exercises

for his mind at that time was trying to recollect the features of Malathi, which constantly dissolved and

tormented him. His latest hobby was scanning the faces of passers-by in the streets to see if any one

resembled her. She had no double in the world. There was a boy in a wayside shop whose arched, dark

eyebrows seemed to Chandran to resemble Malathi's; Chandran often went to that shop and bought

three-pies' worth of peppermint and gazed at the boy's eyebrows.

There was good news for him at home. Ganapathi Sastigal came in the evening with the girl's

horoscope. He explained that the delay was due to the fact that the preceding days were inauspicious.

He took Chandran's horoscope widi him, to give to the girl's people.

So the first courtesies were exchanged between the families. As Chandran looked at the

small piece of paper on which the horoscope was drawn, his heart bubbled over with joy. He noticed

that the corners of the paper were touched with saffron--a mark of auspiciousness. So diey had fully

realized that it was an auspicious undertaking. Did not that fact indicate that they approved of this

bridegroom and were anxious to secure him? If they were anxious to secure him, did not that mean that

she would soon be his? Chandran read the horoscope a number of times, though he understood very

little of it. It dissipated his accumulated gloom in a moment.

Chandran was very happy the whole of the next day; but his mother constantly checked his

exuberance: "Chandra, you must not think that the only thing now to be settled is the date of the

marriage. God helping, all the difficulties will be solved, but there are yet a number of preliminaries to be

settled. First, our astrologer must tell us if your horoscope can be matched with the girl's; and then I

don't know what their astrologer will say. Let us hope for the best. After that, they must come and invite

us to see the girl."

"I have seen the girl, Mother, and I like her."

"All the same they must invite us, and we must go there formally. After that they must come

and ask us if you like the girl. And the terms of the marriage must be discussed and settled.... I don't

mean to discourage you, but you must be patient till all this is settled."

Chandran sat biting his nails: "But, Mother, you won't create difficulties over the dowry?"

'We shall see. We must not be too exacting, nor can we cheapen ourselves."

"But suppose you haggle too much?"

"Don't you worry about anything, boy. If they won't give you the girl on reasonable conditions,

I shall get you other girls a thousand times more suitable."

"Don't talk like that, Mother. I shall never forgive you if this marriage does not take place

through your bickerings over the dowry and the presents."

"We have a status and a prestige to keep. We can't lower ourselves unduly."

"You care more for your status than for the happiness of your son."

"It doesn't seem proper for you to be speaking like this, Chandra."

Chandran argued and tried to prove that demanding a cash dowry amounted to extortion. He

said that the bridegroom's parents exploited the anxiety of the parents of a girl, who must be married

before she attained puberty. This kind of talk always irritated Chandran's mother. She said: "My father

gave seven thousand in cash to your father, and over two thousand in silver vessels, and spent nearly

five thousand on wedding celebrations. What was wrong in it? How are we any the worse for it? It is the

duty of every father to set some money apart for securing a son-in-law. We can't disregard custom."

Chandran said that it was all irrational extravagance and that the total expenses for a

marriage ought not to exceed a hundred rupees.

"You may go and tell your girl's father that, and finish your marriage and come home. I shall

gladly receive you and your wife, but don't expect any of us to attend the wedding. If you want us there,

everything must be done in the proper manner."

"But, Mother," Chandran pleaded, "you will be reasonable in your demands, won't you? They

are not well-to-do."

"We shall see; but don't try to play their lawyer already. Time enough for that."

Father was dressing to go out. Chandran went to him and reported his mother's attitude.

Father said: "Don't be frightened. She doesn't mean you any harm."

"But suppose she holds to a big dowry and they can't pay. What is to happen?"

"Well, well, there is time to think of that yet. They have taken your horoscope. Let them come

and tell us what they think of the horoscopes."

He took his walking-stick and started out. Chandran followed him to the gate, pleading. He

wanted his father to stop and assure him of his support against Mother.

But Father merely said: "Don't worry," and went out.

CHAPTER 10

Three days later a peon from the Engineering Department came with a letter for Father.

Father, who was on the ve- . randa, took it, and after reading it, passed it on to Chandran, who was

sitting in a chair with a book. The letter read: "dear and respected sir--I am returning herewith the copy

of your son's horoscope, which you so kindly sent to me for comparison with my daughter's. Our family

astrologer, after careful study and comparison, says that the horoscopes cannot be matched. Since I

have great faith in horoscopy, and since I have known from experience that the marriage of couples illmatched

in the stars often leads to misfortune and even tragedy, I have to seek a bridegroom

elsewhere. I hope that your honoured self, your wife, and your son will forgive me for the unnecessary

trouble I have caused you. No one can have a greater regret at missing an alliance with your family than

I. However, we can only propose. He on the Thirupathi Hills alone knows what is best for us.

"With regards, "Yours sincerely, "D. W. KRiSHNAN."

Chandran gave the letter back to his father, rose without a word, and went to his room. Father

sat tapping the envelope on his left hand, and called his wife.

"Here they have written that the horoscopes don't match."

"Have they?... H'm. I knew all along that they were up to some such trick. If there is any flaw

in the horoscope it must be in the girl's, not in the boy's. His is a first-class horoscope. They want a

cheap bridegroom, somebody who will be content with a dowry of one hundred rupees and a day's

celebration of the wedding, and they know that they cannot get Chandra on those terms. They want

some excuse to back out now." She remained silent for a while, and said: "So much the better. I have

always disliked this proposal to tack Chandran on to a hefty, middle-aged girl. There are fifty girls

waiting to be married to him."