THE OPPOSITE WIND

(Short Story)

MADHURANTAKAM RAJARAM

(Translated from Telugu by K. S. S. SESHAN)

Uncle Ranganadham has an only daughter after five successive sons. She is Leela. She has just attained the age of wearing half-sarees, shedding the simple skirts. Whenever I see her curled in voil sarees, with the long-plaited hair running down on her shoulders, with a large bundle of books pressed to her bosom and moving on the road like a deer on the sylvan sands of a river-bed, I used to think that it was yet not the time for Leela to be married. Marriage is one with a little happiness; but many times of that, responsibilities. God alone knows of all its happiness, but I know well of how it is not an easy task to bear all the responsibilities. That too in the case of a girl, it is everybody’s knowledge of the harassment of the mother-in-law, quarrels with sister-in-law, possible misunderstandings with other in-laws–a host of other unpleasantries. How could anyone willingly consent to take this doll Leelavati and fix in such a frame!

But uncle Ranganadham’s case is different. His thinking exactly starts where the thoughts of an average man generally stop. If anyone approaches him to offer any ready suggestions, I am sure he is sadly disappointed. To give any suggestion to him is something like telling about space travel and all that to a Russian cosmonaut. My uncle is a wise man to the core. To whichever page you turn in his book of sixty years of life, his wisdom is self-explanatory. The stern manner in which he brought up all his five sons, the foresight with which he got reserved for them their jobs even before their results were out, the diplomacy with which he settled alliances for all of them and got for each one both movable and immovable properties along with pretty brides–all these are enough proofs of his unquestionable worldly wisdom. Though he never stirs out from his place, like the presiding deity of the temple, he gets all his works done. Every thing passes off exactly according to his wishes.

I know well that just as the money is safe in the vaults of the bank, Leelavati’s future is safe and secure in the hands of my uncle. But what I do not know is how and in what manner he is going to herald that future.

One evening my uncle has sent for me. With all affection he invited me in. During the course of the talk, he told me, “Look Sekharam, I am thinking of celebrating the marriage of Leela. Of course, I have not discussed this subject with anyone so far. What is your suggestion?” He directly bowled the question on to me and leaned back in his easy-chair.

I was a bit shocked. I could not easily believe that my uncle has chosen to consult a human being like me probably for the first time in his life. If the girl were to be taken and tied even to a wooden-pole, my uncle’s sons–the strong five–will not object to accept that pole as their brother-in-law. Leelavati has no drive, decision and even the age to select her future husband all by herself. I too don’t believe that I have mentally flowered so much as to offer my suggestions on a matter of this type to my uncle. It may be his desire to honour me by inviting my consuls.

What I thought was true. My uncle never wastes time in taking the suggestions of others. He had crossed that stage very long ago.

“I am in the know of a good alliance, Sekharam.” I got aback. “Then why delay, uncle? Sooner, the better. You can settle the alliance,” I ventured to suggest.

“The boy has studied up to M. A.” What is there after that to read about? There is nothing. Through the stress and storm of examinations he has successfully crossed the ocean of studies and therefore attained the unique privilege to become the son-in-law of my uncle.

“At present he is unemployed. But if we try, he may get a gazetted job or something like that.”

Then, it is good that my uncle does not try now itself, for I don’t approve of anyone becoming a Gazetted Officer even before being married.

“There is no one close to the boy, except his aged and infirm mother. She is only ready to die.”

I have begun understanding the views of my uncle on an advantageous alliance for his daughter.

“I got a letter from the boy only to-day. He is desirous to come and see the girl.”

“He wants to see the girl, uncle? He can as well look at a new-lit lamp in dark or he can gaze at the full-moon. In what way Leela is less than the above?” It was my attempt to tickle the ego and happiness in my uncle. I am sure I was successful.

“I wrote back a card today itself, Sekharam. The Friday that comes after the next one is an auspicious day; he can by all means come and see the girl.”

So my uncle is only inviting me to be in the audience of the drama that he had already started to enact all by himself It is true that I was a bit disappointed. I have a long desire to enact at least a small role in one of the dramas of my uncle. This time also disappointment greeted me.

But my uncle is a clever guy. He soon gave a new lease of life to my perishing desire.

“Sekharam, you know I have got, like Pandavas of Mahabharat, five sons. But of what use? No one is helpful. This is about a marriage, and, as you know, we should be very cautious in every move that we take. I need your co-operation in this.”

My co-operation? Is it my uncle who is in need of it? I could not believe my ears.

“True, Sekharam. What is there in education? If you could spend some money and time, it is not a great thing to become an M. A. One could be wealthy if his father or grand-father earns a fortune and gets out. You leave off educational degrees and wealth. What is most needed in a person is the usefulness. If somebody is coming to see our girl, it does not mean that we all should sit closing our eyes. When we are giving a girl worth her weight in gold, and when we are filling his pockets with ten thousand rupees of our money, are we not obliged to know of his worth? We must check up how far the boy is worthy and know for ourselves whether he deserves all that which he is up to”.

Now I am fully convinced that I have a role to play in my uncle’s drama. As the thermometer is used to know of the fever, my uncle has decided to use me to measure the worthiness or otherwise of the boy who was coming to see the girl. One should be prepared to accept and play any role that comes on the way in the drama of life. If he hesitates, the directors of the drama are sure to brush you aside deciding that you are not useful. If four or five such directors were to reject you, then sure, you will not get a pinch of salt on this earth.

The auspicious Friday anyhow has come. The boy also arrived.

He would be about twenty-five years. He is quite lean and tidy. Wheat complexioned, curly thick hair–the neatly stitched clothes on him have added to his personality. Anyhow, he was quite handsome. With a garland around his neck, a vermilion on the forehead and a turban on, he could be made a bridegroom instantly.

A pretty young girl, ten thousand rupees dowry–when seen from this spectrum, the boy is nothing short of a hero in a technicolour movie.

His name is Raghupati.

I had a sumptuous lunch, thanks to Raghupati, in my uncle’s house. After the lunch, good rest. Again we were treated to tiffin. How far Raghupati liked all these, I do not know, but, for me it was very heavy. Before I could fully recover from the intoxication of hearty lunch and tiffin, the formal viewing of the bride by the boy had begun. In a thick green Kanchipuram saree, with a white blouse, Leelavati was just like the divine Parijata flower brought from heaven to earth by Narada, the touring sage. Like the fragrance of the Parijata her Veena recital filled all the hearts with melodious tunes. All the looks were fixed on her. But uncle’s eyes were gazing the boy. Raghupati had arrived at about 9 in the morning. From then on, he has spoken very few words. If all the words were calculated and worked out for the average, he would have spoken at the most about two or three per hour. Those words were also of the nature like ‘Yes’, ‘No’, ‘I see’, ‘true’–such one-word sentences. Leelavati was singing too. Raghupati sat like the Gandharva sculpture in the Ellora cave. It is not easy to decide whether he was in a mood of appreciation, reluctance, or dislike. He gave no indication whatsoever. He was only in a deep pensive mood.

Uncle called me aside and asked me to explain the meaning of the pensive mood of the boy. What am I to tell? Should I to tell that silence was the sign of liking; or have I to tell that silence is that unworn jewel of the dull?

It was nearing dusk. Uncle suggested us to go out for a walk. “For walk? All right, we shall go,” Raghupati told. We did not talk on our way. We sat on a huge rock outside the village, away from the human movements.

“Do you have any hobbies?” I started the conversation.

“Hobbies? Why should I need?” exclaimed Raghupati as if they were something like untouchable things. “Do you read books?” I enquired. “The intention of the publisher is only to see that people like us should read” said Raghupati innocently. “You see pictures?” I asked. “How to be without seeing pictures? There are about 8 or 9 theatres in our place. What will happen to the owners of those theatres if we don’t go for pictures?” Raghupati was very sympathetic towards the tribe of theatre-owners. I managed to continue the conversation with a chain of questions enquiring as to whose writings he liked most, whose actions he appreciated much. For all my inquisitive questions, Raghupati did not answer in a straight and satisfactory way. He won’t tell, or won’t he tell?–That was my doubt.

The numerous stars above in the sky, and the electric lights in the village were glittering. The surface of the earth was damp providing a new fragrance. While talking, Raghupati was coughing now and then. For one or two minutes he could not contain the thick waves of cough. “All night I travelled in the train, you see. I have a habit to sit at the window, looking outside. I had all the chill winds of the night. By morning nostrils are blocked; I have a bad cold,” Raghupati told.

As soon as we reached the house, food was served. Cots were spread for three of us in the centre hall of uncle’s house. Within minutes after lying, Raghupati covered his face with the thick blanket. Raghupati did not even utter a word and was soon fast asleep. Uncle must have slept long after we slept.

I got up suddenly. Still it was not day-break. In the dark, like a thick shadow, Raghupati was sitting on the bed and struggling hard with the heavy cough which was shaking the whole cot, on which his bed is spread. Soon after I got up, uncle also got up, went out and put on the light. He called my aunt and asked for hot water. He went in and brought some tablets.

“Yesterday night he had train journey. Due to cold weather he has cold, with new water that cold has resulted in cough. It is nothing. If he takes some medicine he will be all right,” I told uncle.

But it was as though my uncle never had any confidence in my words, he looked at me with suspicion; and with the same suspicion he started staring at Raghupati.

It was nearly four months since Raghupati came to see the bride and went. While leaving, Raghupati made very clear of his acceptance. So Raghupati cannot be held responsible for this undue delay in getting the alliance fixed.

I enquired uncle four or five times. “You see, this is a marriage. We must think hundred things before finally deciding,” he used to tell me. At last, once I asked him in clear terms, “Don’t you like the boy, uncle?” He simply smiled away.

Whatever was the reason I convinced myself that uncle was against the alliance. We know of marriages which terminate just before the sacred thread is tied. When compared with such, this is far better I thought. More than our human decisions, it is the writing on the forehead that decides in all such matters. The invoking of the writings on the forehead is the end of all other thoughts. My thoughts also stopped exactly there.

With the passing of the wheel of time, I was busy with my avocations, forgetting about Leelavati’s marriage alliance. One day at about 8 o’clock in the night, uncle crash-landed in my house.

“When I am so busy with the marriage arrangements, what Sekharam, you don’t have time and patience to come and look me up? Is this the help that I expect from you”–speaking in a bitter tone, uncle sat in a chair.

When a supporting actor does not act well on the stage, it is but natural that the main actor would be angry. I have decided to discharge my role in a suitable manner.

“Why do you accuse me, uncle? Tell me, did you speak of it at any time? Did you inform me that the marriage was fixed and that the preparations were afoot?” I asked him straight, pretending to be sour.

Uncle came down. He smiled at me. He was not angry any more.

“You are very innocent, Sekharam. Do you think that I only sat cutting my nails all these four months? You don’t know how much story has gone in the meantime.”

I was curious to know the story. But there was no need on my part to show any anxiety to hear it. And uncle has come only to tell that story.

“You know that boy came and went, Sekharam. Your aunt also started pressing me to fix up the alliance. But I could not proceed further. We should never get any doubt. If I get, I don’t get sleep till I have the doubt cleared. He was very lean and he was coughing. Though we was telling some cause, how can we believe, Sekharam? Did you ever watch a bargain of the bullock? The purchaser will first examine the teeth. Then he will look to the nature of the body; he will check up the twists in the hair, if any. After all this, he will put some grass and test its eating capacities. After all, for a bull worth about 500 or so, when so many tests are in existence, why should we feel delicate when we are pouring ten thousand rupees? After thinking a thousand times, I came to a conclusion. I was prepared even if it comes to the question of any adverse effect to the alliance. If not this boy, I may get another fellow who is better than him. I have decided and written him a letter.”

“What did you write, uncle?” I questioned him with anxiety.

“Look boy. Suspicion is a bad thing to bear. I have this kind of suspicion. It is your responsibility to remove my suspicions. What all I want is one or two of your X-ray photos. Within ten days I got X-ray photos by post.”

Like the astonished Kaurava troops before the celestiai divine form of Lord Krishna, I was flabbergasted at the mental capacities of my uncle.

“Then I took the X-rays to our Doctor Damodaram for examination. He looked at them and told that it was not proper on my part to have suspicion on such a healthy person whose health was as sound as that of quality gold.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. The whole world which appeared just a minute ago to revolve, has come to settle down. Uncle however was continuing his talk.

“Then you know what happened, Sekharam? We have decided that there was nothing wrong about his health. But what about his intentions? His views and his nature? What the type of person the boy is? What about his boyhood and parentage? I started enquiring. As I proceeded, several factors came to light. One of the brothers of his father got his family submerged in playing-cards. That his maternal uncle divorced his wife. His father also went after Sadhus and Mutts and showed no interest for family affairs. Then, whose qualities this boy has inherited? I started collecting information. There were different versions. One of his classmates said that he was proud of his intelligence. A person known to their family said that the boy had the face of a lotus, his talk is as cool as sandal paste; but of his heart he said, he knew nothing. I lost myself in thinking. For about ten days I thought over his matters.”

He has kept me guessing.

“I have people who can burn things, if I merely ask them to see and come. I had sent for them, gave them for expenses of travel and stay; and promised good presents if they could get all the information I needed. They should go to that place; stay for two weeks, and must observe every movement of the boy. Generally with whom does he mingle? How does he spend his time? What is the place and position for him in the society in which he move?–all these matters, they should observe.”

The famous detectives Sherlock Holmes, Perry Mason, Hair Cool Poero–all appeared before my mind. My uncle did not enter the field; but he is in no way inferior to them.

“Sekharam, they all came back. From the information they have gathered, I was satisfied with the nature of the boy.” Uncle, I thought, was coming to the concluding stage. “I wrote of my acceptance to the boy. On receiving the reply, I went to our Acharyulu and got the date, etc., fixed. Next month 5th day after the blue moon before sunrise is a good Muhurtam. By tomorrow evening the invitation cards would be ready.

“I don’t know whether all the five diamond sons would come with their respective families exactly at the marriage time. I could look to you only to be by my side for getting all the arrangements. You must apply for leave for at least ten days.”

As he was uttering the last sentence, uncle was not in the house. He was already on the road.

Though the pandal was not so big as the sky, though the stage was not so large as the earth, and though even the last crow could not be served with preparations made only with ghee; with whatever was possible, the marriage went of on a grand scale. Within a week after the marriage, Leelavati was off to her new home.

Uncle was able to contain himself for one or two days. From the very third day he started waiting for the postman. How the daughter was in the new surroundings? Whether she was under the oppression of the mother-in-law? Every alternate day he started writing to his son-in-law asking to inform about the welfare of his daughter. But all his effort proved to be a one-way traffic. No reply came from the son-in-law.

At last, uncle decided to write a lengthy letter. It started with the troubles and turmoils in begetting and bringing up a girl; he discussed at length how pattered and pampered his daughter was as she was his only daughter. He concluded the letter by writing that it was unfortunate on his part not to receive at least a card about the welfare of his daughter whom he considered more than his own life.

“Sekharam, I am tired of all expectations. This is the last weapon. If I were to get no reply to this, then there is no hope of getting any.” He told me leaning in his chair with a sigh.

He did receive an immediate reply. But it cannot be said to be a reply. If uncle’s was a weapon, then this reply was a stronger weapon.

“Dear father-in-law, this is Raghupati writing with high regards.

“Thanks to the courtesy of the postal department, all your letters are regularly reaching us. Among them the last one is really remarkable. You have explained in detail. I read it more than once for it elucidates in beautiful language as to how you brought up your daughter with love and affection. If a daughter is born, I assure you that we will certainly follow your suggestions in bringing her up. But on the other hand, if a boy is born, then I will pray God that he should not inherit any of your qualities.

“You may be angry. You know that anger is one’s own enemy. I hope you will listen to few of my words.

“Our Sastras tell that the one who gives his daughter in marriage is equivalent to one’s own father. That way you are to be revered by me. But keeping aside this reverence, if I think in a dispassionate way, I am extremely sorry to inform you that you possess certain inhuman qualities which the mortals can never tolerate.

“God sends everyman with some degree of intelligence on to this earth. It is but natural that everyone tries to make use of his intelligence to mould his life happy. But some people arrogate to themselves all the intelligence in the world. They go about behaving that all others are good-for-nothing. This is a kind of ignorance with which such men are obsessed from the ancient days. You have this ignorance in unlimited abundance.

“There is a saying that marriages are made in heaven. This may appear to be absurd for those who imperiously think that it is but according to their whims and fancies alone that the earth rotates; and the day and night are formed. You might be thinking that you have utilised all your intellectual faculties in getting a good alliance for your daughter. But what will you do if I say that the X-Ray photos I sent are not really mine?

“According to the Constitution, if a crime is imputed on one who was innocent, he is liable to be taken to court for damages. What was the crime I committed for making you set C. I. Ds. against me? Was it a crime to accept to marry your daughter? You have sent a band of your henchmen and advocates to probe into the private and public life of this accused. You have money, may be a lot. Just because you have money, you have not hesitated to insult all the good values that represent humanism. Money is a freak that man created as a tool for his happy and secure living. You think that you can purchase people with that money. You will never think that I was attracted to the beauty, grace and good qualities of your daughter. You imagine that standing in the prison of your suspicions I gave explanations for the sake of the bloody dowry that you gave. I remind you, I am a man; not an article. You have not purchased me. As a matter of fact, you can’t. I am herewith enclosing the cheque for ten thousand rupees, and thus returning the money you gave me.

“But you may get a doubt as to why I did not return the dowry before my marriage. I tell you the reason for it. Gone are the days when rejection of dowry is a sign of virtue. These days it is a disqualification on the part of the groom. I know many others like you who doubt, as to why a boy should not accept the dowry if everything was well.

“Chi. Sow. Leelavati is very much all right. Now and then she tells that she is longing to see you. It is better if you go over here once along with mother-in-law at your convenience; otherwise we will come there.

Your beloved son-in-law,

RAGHUPATI”

Uncle was completely bleached. The helplessness that settled on the face of uncle was such that...You can’t find such features of utter helplessness even on a drowning refugee under whose very feet the whole land got melted in floods.

Back