"Wanted A Bridegroom"

I

A few students were lounging in Vishwanath's room in the Senior Hostel, It was the end of the term; the examinations were nearly over.

"What luck today, Ajodhya?" asked Vishwanath of his friend. "Any new vacancies?"

"Today's nickle over The Trumpet is a sheer waste," the latter replied. "Out of the thirteen ‘wanteds’ only five refer to graduates. The rest ask either for a bride or a bridegroom. The paper is becoming nothing but a matrimonial agency," he added flinging away the disappointing sheet.

These two had finished their B.A. papers and were staying on just to postpone their parting from the College. The day of beginning Life of which they had dreamt so long was at hand. How grim was the reality! They were already looking about for employment in anticipation of the University results.

"Why do you people waste time hunting for jobs when you might as easily secure a profitable wife?" asked Gajapati, a second-year student. "Look at this, for instance; ‘Wanted a bridegroom for a young and beautiful–’."

"Oh, drop that vulgar stuff, my dear fellow," interposed Ajodhya. "It makes one hot with shame just to see the beastly thing in print. Imagine what it must be to the poor creature who is thus put on auction! Where has our sense of decency vanished? To describe the points of a girl in the columns of a newspaper as if she were a filly for sale!"

"Leave alone all that for a while, and listen to this–you really must;’ A high-caste virgin of sixteen with fair complexion’–."

"I’ll fair-complexion you, my lad, if you don't cut that rot," roared Ajodhya again. "How can you revel in that slop?" –and Ajodhya warmed up to his pet aversion and was in the middle of his harangue when the warning bell was heard. "I say, it's time," he ended abruptly, "I must be off and get ready for this hockey match."

"He is getting more and more superior everyday," grumbled Gajapati as Ajodhya left. "Why can't a fellow read a matrimonial notice without being snubbed and preached at by every Senior who fancies himself a Sir Galahad?"

"The sight of Ajodhya's has stimulated your eloquence," laughed Vishwanath, enjoying the youngster's discomfiture.

"Gajapati has got the inferiority complex with regard to Ajodhya," rubbed in Kameshwar, another second-year boy. "Every time he argues he gets worsted and takes it meekly as long as Ajodhya is there."

"Nonsense, my boy", protested Gajapati, "what is he to me that I should care? Look here, I have got an idea. Let's go to the play-ground. I'll tell you as we watch the game."

"Now then, youngsters," laughed Vishwanath, smelling mischief, "you are up to some nasty trick or I am much mistaken. Don't forget the respect due to us Seniors."

"What rot!" answered Gajapati, "We are Socialist Democrats. We recognise no Seniors and Juniors."

"What is a Socialist Democrat, Gajapati?" asked Vishwanath. "Oh, I know your game," replied Gajapati with a laugh, "I won't be drawn into your snare. No more argument for me today. Thank you."

"I applaud your wisdom, my friend," answered Vishwanath, "I wish it wasn’t so rare."

II

One morning, a few days later, the postman delivered quite a conspicuous assortment of mail into Ajodhya's hands: two envelopes and a flat oblong packet. One was evidently his sister's letter. But the writing on the other two was unfamiliar. Both bore the post-mark of Rishikund. Being curious he took up the packet, cut the string, slit the wrapper and–stood gazing in bewilderment at the likeness of a pretty girl, a total stranger! What could this mean? Seeking for a clue, he tore open the envelope and read hastily. ". . . his communication through The Trumpet office . . . brother's daughter . . . hardship of dowry . . . photo as requested . . ." Mystery piled upon mystery!–Then in –a flash he guessed the truth–can it be one of those beastly jokes so popular in College? . . . Perhaps it was the doing of that ass Gajapati. He must have forged a letter to one of those infernal bridegroom hunters. What cheek! He must teach the young puppy a wholesome lesson. He didn't mind a rag. He could take a joke as well as anybody–but what impudence to drag a girl into it! He would have a heart-to-heart talk with Master Gajapati this very minute . . . And thrusting the packet and the letters into a drawer he strode out of the room and made straight for the Junior Wing.

But Master Gajapati had watched the drama from a strategic point. He had been posting himself in the next room for the last two days at the hour of the mail delivery. There was a convenient slit in the door–and he enjoyed his triumph. "That was the way to prick the swelled heads of these almighty beings!" he said to himself. "Think themselves Nawabs, don't they? Let him wait till the story goes round. It will be the best rag of the year,"

The triumph, however, was short-lived. There came a sudden change in the angle of Ajodhya's jaw which Gajapati did not like, even with the door between them. Nor was the effect softened by the glint he caught in Ajodhya's eyes. By the time the avenger had crossed the yard, Gajapati came to a decision with the lightning speed worthy of a Napoleon . . . It would be wisest to spend the next day or two away from the College . . . Some people were utterly devoid of a sense of humour . . . He would go and stay with his aunt in town . . . Of course his mother would not forgive him if he failed to pay that dutiful visit. . . . After all aunts had their use in the world!

When Ajodhya knocked at Gajapati's door, the latter had just cleared the compound wall and gained the road to town.

III

Ajodhya was annoyed that he missed Gajapati. He had no definite idea as to what he wished to do to him . . . hot-headed people hardly have on such occasions. There was probably a vague thought of putting him to shame–perhaps even of punching his head. But he realised, as he turned , that this would have meant a scene. It was as well that the young bounder was not within sight. Oh, yes, it would never do to get into a brawl. That would only mean publicity to his embarrassment, more ribald jokes. Just on the eve of his farewell to College too. Such reflections cooled his temper by the time he returned to his room.

That brought him to the strange photo again. He pulled it out of the drawer and gazed at it. The longer he looked the more fascinated he felt . . . The fresh oval face; the clear-cut, delicate features; the sad gentle eyes; the wavy dark locks; the wistful, patient expression–all exercised a subtle spell. How he would like a peep into the thoughts and feelings animating that pretty form! Would she relish being disposed of like a piece of merchandise? Had she no tastes and aversions, attachments and longings? Ah, he was nearly forgetting his sister's letter. Here it was: -

My dearest brother, (he read)

What is this mad project of walking to Almora and' that in this hot season? What are railways for, may one ask? You would even risk a sunstroke to avoid us, I suppose. This has been going on for the last two years, I know. Perhaps you count a week or so that you spend now and then with us as more than what we deserve. You have always some excuse to stay away. Once it was the Mela at Hardwar, another time it was some Scout Camp; then it was an excursion to some mouldering ruins. Digging up buried temples and living with jackals was more interesting to you than spending the summer with us. Little Shyam inquires, I don't know how many times a day, about you, and his father said the other day: "What chance have we when he has such grand friends to go to?" Do you wish that your sister should hear such taunts? I don't want to rake up our last quarrel. I said I shall never pester you again about marriage and I shall be as good as my word. It is true that I am your nearest relation and, unfortunately for you, the only one. But if you don't want to marry, why should I mind? If anything, I should be glad. Sisters-in-law never get on with each other. Have you ever met a wife who hasn't come between her husband and his sister? Besides, if you do marry, you will of course find your own bride. How can one chosen by your poor ignorant sister be worthy of you? All the girls that I know are simple country bred creatures like me, who wouldn't know how to shake hands with your Saheb folk or to strut about in those high-heeled shoes. There is a sister of a dear friend of mine, so sweet and clever–worth any six of your perky town hussies–but there–I said I wouldn't mention the subject and I won't–even if you begged me on your knees! It is quite right that we should each mind our own business in this Kali Yuga.

Shyam will be four years old next full moon. There is still a week for his birthday. I Should like you to be here for it even if you must go afterwards wandering over the hills like an old bairagi. If you make any excuses I shall never write to you again. You know my threats are not empty. So you will do what you think proper.

Your loving sister,
CHANDRAKANTA.

Poor Didi was evidently upset, thought Ajodhya. She did feel still sore over her match-making fiasco of last term and now she has evidently another girl up her sleeve. Dear old Didi!She was just a couple of years older and not much more than a girl herself, but how she loved to mother him and quarrel with him in alternate moods! The very thought of estrangement from her made him wince. . . . He sat down and dashed off a reply saying that he would be with her within four days and that she could then tell him all about her latest paragon and give him the rest of the scolding in person.

IV

"But you will surely give me five minutes, won't you?" protested Chandrakanta as Ajodhya clamoured for something to eat almost the moment he arrived. "By the time you have your bath your nashta will be ready. If it isn't it serves you right. You never mention your train and I don't suppose you brought anything to break your fast at the river-crossing. You must starve if you willbe lazy." And she bustled about preparing his repast, leaving him to the tender mercies of her son who was bursting to ask him a hundred questions and to tell him a thousand things.

"I am glad you have come, my dear Ajodhya," said Pandit Ramlal, Ajodhya's brother-in-law when he returned from office. "I wanted you for my own peace if for nothing else. Your sister has been very upset over your whimsical plans and for the last few days I felt I had married a powder magazine. Have you made it up with her?"

"What else is there for one to do, Ramlalji? It is easy for Didi with a devoted husband and a bright child all her own, to threaten to cut me forever. A homeless orphan must come to terms."

"Homeless orphan indeed!" retorted his sister. "People deserve no mercy when they ignore those that love them."

"I was not ignoring you, my dear Didi-not even on the marriage question which has vexed you. All I ask is time. Have you heard, Ramlalji, about this girl who is worth any six hussies from town?"

"It's, serious enough to marry one wife, my boy. As to marrying six in one, don't be so rash, if you ask my advice, it must be the deadliest form of polygamy."

"I am not worthy of even one, much less of your six."

"That's the bachelor's way of sugar-coating the same truth," laughed Pandit Ramlal.

"You people may have nothing better to do than making fun of others–but I have," said his wife, starting up to go. "I must attend to the dinner as the cook is busy with tomorrow's preparations."

"Oh, no, please stay," interrupted her husband. "We'll talk sense now. Did you–er–have a comfortable journey, Ajodhya?" he asked hastily to change the topic.

"We had a smooth run, thank you," replied Ajodhya enjoying Pandit Ramlal's alarm at his wife's displeasure. "One of the tongas broke its axle between the station and the river and I had to give a lift to the passenger, a nice old lady."

"Was she as old as Shantadevi?" asked Shyam who was beginning to understand the conversation now.

"I don't know, my boy."

"Didn't you look at her?"

"Yes, but not at your Shantadevi. Who is she?"

"Don't you know Shantadevi–Bhola's granny?"

"No, my dear."

"She can take her teeth out and put them in when she likes. Could your old lady do that ?"

"I don't know, I am sure."

"Shyam, I told you not to talk of old people's teeth, didn't I?"

"Yes, mother, but uncle won't tell her, will you, uncle?"

"Oh no, my lad,–not even if she flays me alive."

"What happened to her tonga, uncle?"

"Its axle broke."

"Why didn't she put her hand in its place, like Kaiki?"

"Who's that now?"

"Don't you know Kaiki?"

"Some other relation of your Bhola, again?."

"Oh no, don't you know Kaiki-who asked for a boon and sent Ramachandra to the–?" "Oh ! you mean Kaikeyi, King Dasharatha's queen?"

"Yes, who else? Do you know any other?"

"No, I am afraid."

"Then why do you ask?"

"My fault, little one. Give me till tomorrow and I shall mug up the old stories for your birthday. And you must help me to unpack my boxes in the morning. I'll show some nice toys that are there for you."

"I am not sleepy yet, uncle, shall I help you now?"

"No, no, Shyam," remonstrated the mother, whose patience was all but over. "Uncle is tired now and he has also much to say to your father and to me. Come and have your dinner and get ready for bed. Tomorrow is your birthday and you must get up at sunrise and be ready for breakfast with us grown-up people."

* * * *

The birthday feast was over. Chandrakanta had invited Shyam's little friend Bhola and the ladies of his house. But he was taken ill and only his grandma and aunt came, whom Chandrakanta was now entertaining. Her husband had gone to the office. Ajodhya was writing letters and listening to the music that floated from her room. Little Shyam was investigating his uncle's boxes and playing with the toys scattered on the floor.

"Uncle, see how my elephant nods its head. Does it want to be stroked?"

"Very likely, my dear," repelled Ajodhya, bending over his letter.

"I am giving it sugarcane to eat."

"Fine idea," Ajodhya assented beginning with another sheet, "but where are you taking the gloy bottle?"

"It's water for the elephant, I won't spill it. Will you give me some string, uncle? I want to chain the elephant."

"You may find a piece in my box."

"Uncle, what is this man doing to this lady?" asked Shyam pointing at a picture magazine that turned up in his search. "Tell me the story."

"I must finish my letters, my boy. We'll solve that mystery in the evening."

"Will mother tell me now?"

"You might ask her."

"I'll take this other picture also," he announced, picking up something else.

"Do," assented Ajodhya without turning round his pen still running fast. The boy raised a merry whoop and waving his picture over his head dashed through the door. This vociferous joy broke Ajodhya's train of thought. His pen stood still and he caught a glimpse of his retreating nephew. Then he became suddenly conscious of a vague uneasiness–something had gone wrong some-where. And in a flash he saw what it was. "Shyam, Shyam, wait a second, my boy," he shouted; giving pursuit . . . . "Good God, the little monkey has carried off that photo–the matrimonial advertisement affair. Oh dear, what would Didi say? What an awkward situation!" It was too late. There, as he burst into her room he saw her staring at the thing and–why was the old lady of yesterday's journey there?–and a girl beside her! Good heavens!–had that photo come to life? Or was he dreaming? Surely there was the original by the side of the old lady. He stood agape, looking from one to the other, scratching his head with the pen with which he had rushed from his table.

"Uncle," said Shyam by way of introduction and with an air of proprietorship, "this is Shantadevi who can take out her–." "Shyam!" called out his mother hastily, recovering from her bewilderment at last. "Go and play with your toys in uncle's room, my dear."

But you haven't told me the story of the picture, mother. I want to know what this man . . . "

"Yes, yes, my dear, mother will tell you all about that at bedtime. Now run along." "This is the young man who was so good to me yesterday when our tonga broke down," said the old lady.

"That's my brother. I am glad he has made your acquaintance–and of someone else too, evidently."

"Oh no! It isn't so, Didi. You don't know the whole thing. It's all a confusion. I'll explain–I mean I can't explain," and he bolted from there.

Kusum, Shantadevi's youngest daughter, was painfully embarrassed during this scene. She felt somewhat relieved as Ajodhya disappeared. Pointing to the photo in Chandrakanta's hand she asked, "How does this come here?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you," replied Chandrakanta with a smile.

"You surely don't think that I–Oh, Chandrakanta, how can you?"

"What's wrong in that, my dear? If you know my brother well and let him have your ."

"But I don't–upon my word. This is the first time I see him. Uncle asked me to give a sitting to a photographer a couple of months ago, I didn't quite know why, and I never saw the print till this moment."

"Now that you mention your uncle I begin to see a glimmer of light," said Shantadevi who was puzzled more than she cared to show. "It must be my brother-in-law's doing. He had queer ideas of disposing off Kusum since her father's death, I know. People never could believe that he is her father's own brother. But you will know more about this mystery from your brother, I am sure. And now we must be going. Where is little Shyam?"

As soon as the guests had left, Chandrakanta opened a volley of questions, and when the searching examination was over poor Ajodhya felt more like a criminal than the victim of a joke that he was. But on the other hand he derived, however, a strange consolation from the disclosure that Kusum, the pretty original of the photo, was the same girl that his sister had mentioned in her last letter.

VI

Ajodhya noticed that his sister had now become strangely reticent about his marriage and never alluded to Kusum though several days had passed since their dramatic meeting.

"What has come over you, Didi?"he asked one morning, losing patience. "Why have you grown so indifferent all of a sudden? You give a fellow neither help nor sympathy."

"Why, wherein do you want help and sympathy, brother? Aren't you quite happy? You have just heard of your success at the University."

"Oh, hang the University! What I mean to say is–er–don't you wish that I should marry?"

"Of course I do. You know that yourself. But you are not a boy of 12 to be tied up by the elders to a girl of 5 in the silly old way. If you want a wife you must find her yourself. It's a responsibility which even a sister oughtn't to take up."

"Why this sudden change in your views? You were for instance so keen on this girl–what's her name–your friend's sister, I mean. Why have you dropped her all of a sudden? You hardly mention her name now."

"Is it so? I didn't notice it. But you have been making up for me, anyway, haven't you? You are not ingenious at all, brother," she added with a mischievous laugh. "It's so amusing–the way you lead the talk to her in every possible and impossible way. As to my dropping her, what makes you think so?"

"You haven't seen her for nearly a fortnight now . . . ."

"You mean you haven't seen her–for myself I see her almost every other day."

"You mean you–er–."

"Yes," she replied with another tantalising laugh," That's what I mean. I see her at her home–where else should I see her? You don't expect her to hang about here begging to be married, do you? The poor girl is already feeling miserable over the advertisement affair. Her uncle is a brute. I would like to lock him up in the cattle-shed."

Next day, poor Ajodhya ignorant that the state of his heart was an open book to his sister and unable to see through her diplomatic indifference, spoke to her with great trepidation and begged her to come to his help and approach Kusum with a marriage proposal. After much teasing and playful opposition Chandrakanta told him how she had guessed what was coming and promised her influence to win Kusum's consent.

Chandrakanta knew that her task was as easy as it was pleasant. Like a scheming sister that she was, she had taken care to see that Kusum would place Ajodhya in her gallery of heroes before they had met. Wise beyond her years, she knew that idealisation was the essence of romance and that what an innocent heart, awakening to the first thrill of its rich depths, wanted was to love, far more than to be loved.

That afternoon when Chandrakanta broached the subject, Kusum referred her, blushing and smiling, to her mother. The betrothal was duly settled, and when Chandrakanta announced the happy news, Ajodhya's happiness knew no bounds.

VII

The bridegroom and his friends were chatting merrily in a side-room overlooking a small garden. "But you seem to have come down from vehement condemnation to ardent support of these crude practices in match making," remarked Kameshwar. "This marriage of yours would be their best justification. How would you two have met at all had it not been for friend Gajapati's prank and the arrival of the photograph?"

"That had nothing to do with our meeting whatever, my dear Kameshwar. I feel just as badly as before about this vulgar advertising. In fact now I feel in addition a personal humiliation."

"How did you come together then?" continued Kameshwar.

"Ah, my dear friend, you don't know my sister or you wouldn't ask. When she makes up her mind she is Fate personified. My sister . . ."

He was interrupted by the entrance of the lady herself, carrying a heaped plate of sweets which form the chief occupation of the young people at all marriage gatherings.

"Nice doings these," she said with feigned displeasure hearing her name mentioned, "to gossip about people behind their . Where are your manners, brother? If you can't spare your own sister . . ."

"It wasn't gossip, my dear Didi, I was growing eloquent over your diplomatic genius. I can't keep you out of my talk even for a minute, as you know."

"Oh yes, you must flatter me now. Mere words for me and deeds for someone else hereafter. I must get used to that soon. It's the way of brothers all over the world. Tell me how you like these sweets," she added, turning to his friends," by the time you finish the plateful a fresh installment will be ready, so don't spare the things."

"Where is Shyam, Didi? We haven’t seen him since morning," asked Vishwanath.

‘I can't get at him myself," replied the mother. "He is false like his uncle and has deserted me for a pretty face. He sticks to his new aunt like a shadow."

The laugh was once more against Ajodhya who seemed supremely happy at his discomfiture. "If you want the nephew I'll have to send the aunt also, since they are inseparable," continued, Chandrakanta. "It will also save my carrying the sweets all by myself. She might as well begin her duties as a hostess from now."

There was no happier wedding that season throughout Hindustan.