THE WEDDING

K. T. NARASIMHACHAR

The wedding was the event of the year in the little village. And many new things had happened to it on that occasion. The villagers who had been dreaming of a good road, apart from their ancient cart-track, from the main trunk highway between Kurnool and Bangalore, had benefited by a windfall from the bride’s father in the shape of a motorable road. Electricity, which was part of the scheme of the Welfare State in the new regime of the country’s freedom, had been connected overnight to about a dozen of the houses of prominent people inhabiting the village. Many things more had taken place which had brought the existence of the little hamlet to the notice of the outside world.

2

The village was astir with activity for weeks before the wedding. For the Collector’s daughter was to marry the son of the village purohit–a thing heard of only in romance and unknown in real life! And to take place in the village too, against the prevailing custom in which the bridegroom has to go to the bride’s residence for the celebration and ritual! Strange things happen nowadays, said the older village folks nodding their heads, but this is the twentieth century, they did not forget! The story of Cinderella and the Prince paled into the commonplace before this wedding of Rani and Raghuram.

3

There was a strike in the woollen factory for no ostensible ground whatever. The owners had always been considerate to the demands of their workers and given them all facilities for every years past in the shape of increased wages and generous bonus every year, part from providing them with health insurance, free medical treatment and other amenities. And more than anything else their Labour Welfare Officer was one really interested in the welfare of the workers. He had been to England for specialization in industrial problems after taking his Master’s degree in economics with a brilliant first class. Coming of poor parents, his heart was with the workers and though he was not disloyal to his employers or sacrificed their interests, he was devoted to those under his care, the workers of the factory. But this time he seemed to have lost his influence with the workers, who had struck work and had taken to violence to enforce their demands. Raghuram spent sleepless days and nights–it was the eighth day of the strike–running up to his employers at all odd hours, pacifying the recalcitrant labour leaders, sparing no effort to bring about peace and harmony. But he seemed to be helpless, the workers seemed to be in no mood to listen to him, a last minute effort was being made to resolve the deadlock. The outcome of it all was that a meeting of the labourers and their masters had been called that evening in the factory compound.

4

“How is he, doctor? Is he not better this morning?” The doctor looked at the speaker, a young lady of about twenty-two, spick and span in her silk sari and blouse of matching colour, a wrist watch on her left hand with a pair of bangles and diamond ear-rings to show off her beauty to advantage, dark glasses to chide her big and brilliant eyes under pencilled brows, a rose stuck sideways in her hair on each side of her head, lipstick to make her lips look lovelier and a hint of rouge to heighten her fair complexion.

The doctor looked at the sleeping patient again, swathed in heavy bandages all over the head, and came farther away from the end of the bed towards the entrance of the special ward.

“I am not satisfied with his condition,” he replied as Rani wed the doctor. “Not at all! We have still anxious hours ahead.”

“Still in danger, Doctor?” persisted Rani facing him at the door.

“Young lady,” he answered looking at her, “you can’t be half to worried as I am! An older man would have succumbed. But he is strong in body and sound at heart. God may yet save his life. I’ll do my best for him!”

5

It was the eighteenth day after the incident. Raghuram had turned the corner, in the doctor’s opinion, but it would be weeks before he could get out of hospital and resume work, His employer has spared no expense or effort to get him the best medical attention. In fact a specialist had been flown over from Madras for consultation at the suggestion of the able doctor of the mills.

It was about five in the evening. The doctor had come on his usual rounds and entered the ward even as Raghuram’s father and mother were by his bedside, holding his hands in silent gratitude to God for sparing their only son to them. A picture of Lord Venkateswara was by the cot on the diet chest. Raghuram, pale and pinched in face welcomed the doctor with a wan smile.

“You’ll be all right soon, Raghuram,” said the doctor, “but you must not be anxious to go back home. He is quite well, good mother,” continued he, turning towards the old lady, “but let him be here for some time more. I shall look after him.”

Even as he turned to leave the ward, Rani entered. She made a namaskar to Raghuram’s parents and greeted the doctor with a smile.

“No talk, remember,” warned the doctor turning to her, “and don’t stay long! He wants rest and silence.”

Rani approached the cot. The old couple continued to hold the hands of Raghuram, who just looked at the girl and seemed to wonder who she could be. He directed his curiosity towards his mother.

“She has been coming to see you quite often,” Raghuram’s mother slowly whispered into his ear, “in fact we have been seeing her here every day ever since we came to see you.”

A puzzled look crept over his countenance. Who could she be? A doctor? But she was not wearing the distinctive dress. Raghuram closed his eyes and began to think for a while. No one that he knew, he was sure. And so smart and fashionable too!

Raghuram turned to his mother again and signed to her to come near him. She could not understand what he wanted. He was still not strong enough to speak and his mother thought that he wanted some nourishment. Once again he motioned to her to approach him.

“Who is she, mother?” he slowly whispered into her ear, “not anyone we know?”

“A stranger to me, and your father too,” answered the old lady. “She comes every day. We have seen her morning and evening, spending some time with the doctor, perhaps, to enquire about your condition: But she is not anyone we know. We learnt on enquiry, that she is a social worker. She has come recently to this place.”

Raghuram smiled at his mother’s words. His curiosity seemed to be whetted, not satisfied. He would bide his time till he was stronger and could himself find out who she was.

6

“My dear Father and Mother,

You must be wondering what has happened to me, even anxious about my whereabouts. I told you in my last letter I would be going with some girl friends to an unknown place for a holiday. That must have assured you of my safety and welfare. But the place where I am now writing to you from is different and I tell you, this has been anything but a holiday. And the things that have happened during the last fortnight or more! Hold your in patience, good people, and I shall tell you everything.

“My friends and I had hardly covered hundred miles by car–we were all travelling in four station wagons–when we were witnesses of an incident, rather, an accident of a very serious–not to any of us, thank God, but–well, I shall tell you briefly what happened. As we were nearing the woollen factory at B–, a lot of shouting and noise reached our ears. In the factory compound we saw a meeting going on–of the labourers employed in it, as we learnt later–but what a meeting it was! Within the few minutes that we stopped near by, we witnessed some ugly happenings. The men went and attacked those on the dais with whatever they could get–stones and sticks, chairs and benches–I tell you it was veritably hell let loose! The upshot of it all was that the employers were manhandled but they all escaped without much the worse for their experience. Only one was unfortunate–the labour Welfare Officer–he fell a victim to their unbridled violence. He was badly beaten, he had injuries on his skull and was thought to be dead. By the time the police arrived on the scene the hooligans had taken to their heels. The injured man–he was a horrible sight with blood streaming all over his face, his head battered and bruised, helpless and left to himself–was taken in an ambulance by the factory doctor. I didn’t feel like continuing my holiday further with my friends. I dropped off from their company and have been here all along, staying as the guest of the factory owner whose charming daughter–a girl about my age–keeps me company always. But I am more often wanting to visit the hospital and nurse that poor injured man than spend my time with her.

“It is nearly three weeks now since I stayed down here. The patient is out of danger now. The doctor had despaired of his life for a fortnight as his head had been so badly smashed but the skill and sympathy of the doctor has saved him. A great surgeon, that’s what the doctor is, I tell you. ‘What’s all my foreign degrees worth,’ he said yesterday ‘if I can’t save the life of that young man. I have come to love him as my own son during the last two years I have been here–he is a wonderful youth!’ Thank God, for saving his life.”

“His old father and mother live in a village thirty miles off. They have been here ever since the day of the accident. One of them, the mother or the father, is always by his bedside all the twenty four hours. I am told they are poor, he is their only son–perhaps, that accounts for their love for him and anxiety for his life! I now understand why you are both so fond of me and get scared when you don’t see me even for a few hours!

“And, mummy, daddy, I have a confession to make to you both straightaway! I have taken a strange liking for the injured son of this old couple. Somehow I feel like being with him always, talking to him and attending on him until he gets completely well. Of course, the doctor–what a nice, elderly man he is, he reminds me so much of you, daddy, he is so kind and considerate to the patient!–and the nurses are all looking after the patient in a wonderful way. And, mummy, I feel at times jealous that they should be allowed to attend on him and look to his needs, while I have to stand silently by, with a strange yearning to do everything for him all by myself!

“Well, I don’t know how long I shall be here–I shall continue to stay on at least until he is discharged from the hospital. I am keeping quite well–don’t either of you worry about my health–it’s O. K. Only somehow I feel to have changed in my way of life. Daddy, you will not see me any more a painted doll, as you used to call me! I have thrown away my lipstick. My powder and rouge have been nowhere near my face for a fortnight now!

“Yes, I have made up my mind to stay on here at least a month more–I expect he will be out of the hospital by then. I have become very chummy with the daughter of the factory owner. She pulls my legs often at having lost myself in his affairs and longing for his company!

“Lots of love to you both, mummy and daddy.

Ever your dear

Rani.”

“What do you make of it?” asked Rani’s father tossing the letter over to her mother. “Getting head over heels in love with that unknown young man!”

“You’re too hasty, I think, in drawing such a conclusion. Rani is a social worker and her letter shows only her sympathy for that tragic victim of mob violence–that’s all!”

“I’m afraid you haven’t understood the full import of her foolish letter,” rejoined Rani’s father, “it is clear as noon that...”

“Nothing of the kind,” interrupted her mother, “Rani is too simple-hearted for all that.”

“It is these simple-hearted girls that pose problems for their parents. Something at times gets into their heads which is hard anybody to shake them from!”

Rani’s’ mother smiled. “You men are always against any freedom for womenfolk. Before marriage we have no choice, in marriage are no better than bond slaves to the husband and…

“Enough of your talk, my dear,” cut in her husband peevishly. “I tell you my daughter shall marry the husband I choose for her. Here I am, a son of a High Court Judge, the Collector of a district, on the look-out for a worthy husband for my one and only daughter. I’ve been trying to rope in an I. A. S. young man for Rani but all my efforts have failed so far. And the irony all is that she takes it into her head to get involved in a wayside romance with an unknown youth! Who is he? Who are his parents? What are his antecedents? None of these things worry your daughter in the least! By God, what a pass have things come to in our country after freedom–what with co-education, equality of rights for men and women under the Constitution and what not!”

Rani’s mother did not appear the least bit upset by her father’s strong sentiments or warmth of words. “I shall write to her to come back immediately.”

“But where is she?” continued her father in the same mood. “We have no idea of the place where she is halting temporarily. How will your letter reach her? You can tell her from me that I’m very displeased with her!”

“And this from you, who have always doted on your daughter! I shall see that my letter reaches her somehow quickly–that woollen factory is well-known in these parts. But wait–an idea has just now struck me! I shall start tomorrow morning by car and fetch her.”

“Excellent! At times women seem to have more brains than men. Do go and bring her soon–I am feeling worried on her account–it looks like months since I last saw her. Rani is our only child and she should be well married and settled in life with one worthy of her!”

7

“Father, please forgive me. That’s my last word.”

The conversation was taking place in Rani’s home Her father was seated on a sofa with worry writ large on his face. An elderly man, about fifty years in age, he was tall and had an imposing presence. His hair was turning grey at the temples but the handsomeness of his features was heightened by his large and lustrous eyes which Rani had inherited. She was sitting on a chair at a distance from him, clad in a white sari and blouse, a garland of jasmine stuck in her hair. The kumkum mark on her forebead added to her loveliness and made her look fairer in complexion. Unlike her father, she seemed to be calm and serene as she faced him.

“Rani, my child, you don’t know what your words mean. You are our only child. You are the delight of your fond mother. You are the pride of my father’s heart. Ever since you were six I have been seeking a worthy match for you–someone who will make you happy and make me and your mother feel that we haven’t sacrificed you on the altar of wedlock. And here you are trying to throw yourself away on a young man, unknown to the world, unrecognised by society as scion of a worthy family, unworthy of your hand in marriage!”

Please don’t say that, father. You hurt me by your words. He may not be rich, he may not come from a renowned family, he may not be regarded by you as having remarkable talents but he is worthy of me. That’s the only thing that matters!”

“We don’t even know who his parents are, where they come from, what are their antecedents. Surely, my child, you will not take a leap in the dark.”

“Father, I have found out everything about him. No doubt he comes from a poor family but they are respected all around. His father, a great Sanskrit scholar, has settled down in the village of their ancestors, more keen on garnering wisdom than gathering gold. I haven’t been there but I learn that they are honoured for their goodness and integrity.”

“You are talking like a child, Rani,” rejoined her father, “I least thought you would be so obstinate or hurt the hearts of your old parents in this manner. Here I am, the seniormost I.C.S. officer in the State with every prospect of my being called to New Delhi. I shall have a chance then of picking the best among the young I.A.S. men for my prospective son-in-law. Do you finally deny us that pleasure and yourself the joy and happiness of being a high placed officer’s bride?”

“Father,” retorted Rani, “does happiness exist only in high society or…”

“Child,” interrupted her father, “you are too simple-hearted to understand. We have brought you up from your childhood in such comfort and luxury that you will be miserable as the wife of man with a lower standard of life. And if you should realise this when it is too late, how can it be undone? Remember, Rani, one false step in the matter of wedlock will be fatal to your future happiness. Listen to me, my child, and be a good girl. You have never done anything to displease me or your mother. Why are you so adamant? Ah, here comes your good mother. I’m sure you make her also unhappy. I wish I had not a daughter!”

Rani rose as she saw her mother enter the room. She ran to her and fell into her arms and burst out with tears in her eyes, “O mother!”

8

“I can’t believe it,” said Rani’s father, “it is next to impossible!”

“But it is so, don’t you see?” rejoined his wife, “having agreed to let Rani choose her husband, you can’t quarrel with his parents’ poverty. It is the boy that matters after all!”

“What about his ancestors, their antecedents….?”

“There is nothing against them for I have got enquiries made and satisfied myself. Everything is as the gods have ordained it. For you will have to believe, after all, that marriages are made in heaven.

“It may all be true,” answered Rani’s father, “but to think of giving my daughter in marriage to the son of...”

“What’s so strange about it? Perhaps if the boy’s father were equally rich or had belonged to high society, you would have welcomed the alliance!”

“To think of Rani marrying the son of my cousin, poor in terms of the world’s goods, not a patch on my official position or status in society...O it’s hard for me still to reconcile myself to the idea!”

“Who can untie Brahma’s bonds that bring together man and maid in wedlock,” pursued Rani’s mother, “Rani has chosen her partner in life wisely and well. I’m sure your cousin is your peer in virtue, if not in wealth. I pray you let your prejudice against him–whatever the reason you may have for it–become a thing of the past. Our child’s happiness must be our only thought.”

“Yes, I see it now,” agreed Rani’s father, “Rani’s happiness is our happiness–I have no right to come in her way. This marriage may make me and my cousin good friends in sharing a common joy!”

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