Chapala

(A STORY)

BY V. S. GURJAR

(Rendered from Marathi by R. K. Dravid)

I: JAYANT’S NEWS

Having had to get through some business with one of my friends staying in Byculla, I boarded the tram at the usual station. There was not much of a crowd in it. I sat down on a bench on the left side. –Ah! What was it that made my hips uncomfortable? I took it up in my hands. A tiny, dark pocket-book! Somebody had forgotten it there.

Instantly I shoved it into my pocket. I did not mean to ‘lampass’ it; but neither was I going to present it to the tram-conductor! The book must contain the owner’s name and address; and I only intended to send it to its owner.

I did not proceed to Byculla after all! I was extremely curious about the pocket-book. Still I dared not take it out in the tram. So I alighted near-by and returned home.

The moment I was at home, I opened the pocket-book. On the very first page was written in English in feminine script: "Chapala Wagle, Bombay." That was all! No more details of address. I began to turn over the other pages. There were several English and Marathi quotations–and some private jottings too!

I immediately closed the book and put it aside. The diary of a Society lady must contain so many personal secrets! I had not the cheek to read them.

For this enormous sacrifice on my part, I appropriated as my reward the eight one-anna postal stamps in the book!

Now I was confronted only by this conundrum: Who is this "Chapala Wagle, Bombay," and how to find her out?

That nice pocket-book was bound in fine Morocco leather. It must have cost at least from eight to ten rupees! And it was clear that it had been dear to its owner. It was still smelling of the fine perfume of ‘Ashes of Violets.’ To elicit any more information would have necessitated the reading of the private notes. And, as a matter of fact, a desire to read them was gaining upon me. But I was somehow repressing this my desire!

Feeling uneasy that the address of the owner of that nice thing could not be known, I was tossing the pocket-book moodily. Just then it seemed to me that there was something in the side-fob attached to its cover. I took it out of the fob. It was a photograph of a beautiful damsel with the superscription: "With love from Chapala." There was no doubt that the pocket-book belonged to the young lady whom the photograph represented. It seemed that she had kept the photo in the pocket-book with a view to present it to somebody, but had not still done so.

After much thinking I sent a short notice for publication to the Times of India and a couple of prominent Marathi dailies.

I found the two following notices in the papers the next day:

FOUND!

"A tiny dark pocket-book bound in Morocco leather has been found! It contains the name of the owner, but not her address. Please enquire of ‘X’ c/o Dinamani, Bombay 4."

LOST IN TRAM!

"A tiny dark pocket-book bound in Morocco leather containing some other things. The person who returns it will be rewarded. Please return it to the following address:

MISS CHAPALA WAGLE, Madhunivas, Bombay 4."

No more effort was now needed to get the address of the owner. I posted the pocket-book to that address with the following covering letter:

"I am sending you your pocket-book which I found in the tram. I have, however, appropriated the eight stamps and the photo as my reward. Please acknowledge receipt.

‘X’"

II: THE LETTERS

On the third morning after this, I got a letter re-directed to me by the office of the daily Dinamani. I opened it. The note-paper smelt of, the perfume of ‘Ashes of Violets.’ What a wonder! I had not dreamt that I would get a reply from Chapala Wagle. I imagined at the moment that she might have demanded her photo.

Chapala had written:

"I cannot be too grateful to you. Being the memento of a person dearer to me than my life, the pocket-book you sent me so kindly was worth the whole world to me. You cannot imagine how glad I was to get it owing to your extreme kindness. Will you please see me tomorrow evening? I wish so much that I should get to know you and thank you personally.

CHAPALA WAGLE."

Ah! Brainy indeed! Who will deny that this was a masterly artifice employed by Chapala to regain the photo? A gentleman, who has been cordially invited as a guest, cannot refuse a polite request. That was the basis of her artifice. But, young lady, why are you pining so much for your photo? Haven’t you got another copy?

After some thought I made up my to see her. I wrote to her the same day:

"Received your invitation for which I am very thankful. I don’t believe I have done anything to deserve so much praise from you. It is the duty of a gentleman to return an article he has found to its owner. At least one must try that way. And that was what I did. On the other hand, I must apologise to you for realizing my reward before sending you your article. I request you not to make me blush by complimenting me in spite of this my doing. Please excuse me.

‘X’"

Tut! I won’t return the photo at any cost! I won’t let her know either whether I have read her jottings in the pocket-book! What other motive can possibly underlie her desire to see and thank me personally?

My conjecture was not far from correct. The next day brought me this letter from Chapala:

"I can’t conceive what sort of ideas you entertain about me. It is not proper to continue correspondence in this manner with a person unknown to me. But, since you have thoroughly known the workings of my mind from my diary, we are not such complete strangers after all. Hence, my wish for a closer acquaintance. And you can gratify my wish by a personal visit.

CHAPALA."

Bravo! Oh, this feminine wile! This girl wants to vanquish me in a single subtle turn, eh?

I didn’t go. I replied:

I am not so very strange to you. No wonder, therefore, that my shyness has now disappeared. It would have been embarrassing for me also to carry on correspondence with an unknown person. You must have known that I do not regard you as a stranger, inasmuch as I have retained your photo with me. I hope you will pardon me for my offence and effrontery. You say that I have read your diary. I should only like to suggest that it is advisable not to see a person whom you imagine to be so far rude and uncultured as to be capable of clandestinely reading a young girl’s diary.

‘X’"

This letter brought the reply:

"I regard you a beloved friend of mine. I have indeed offended you. Please excuse me. I suspected you because I would have read the diary had I been you. There’s no doubt that I was unfair in my suspicion. And indeed why should you condescend to see a mean-minded girl like me?

CHAPALA."

Well! Isn’t this topping? What an artifice to turn the tables on me! She seems to be certain that I’ll change my mind all of a sudden and present myself to her. Not the least doubt! And she brazenly calls me her beloved friend!

No, Miss Chapala! Your suspicion is not still extinct. And, oh girl, what terrible secrets lie embedded in your diary that make you strain yourself so much to know whether I have read them or not? I’m sure that this is the only motive behind these efforts.

I wrote to Chapala:

"Dear Miss Wagle: You need not feel in the least depressed. Is it not your magnanimity that impels you to call me your ‘beloved friend’ and desire intimacy with me? You have enough sharp wit to guess why I am evading a visit to you. Distance lends enchantment to the view! And our familiarity might breed contempt! A tete-a-tete between us two might probably destroy the creation of correspondence! This is why I have not so far seen you. We have so many acquaintances; why not have an acquaintance whom we have not seen?

‘X’"

This affair began to be a source of amusement. I said to myself: "Oh, Miss Chapala Wagle! There is a world of chances for me! I won’t let them pass. I can identify you in the street or on the Chowpatty if we cross each other. But that is for ever beyond you! You won’t know me even if I were next to you.

But Chapala must have been alive to this state of affairs. She wrote in her next:

"Dear friend: It seems natural that I should feel embarrassed when writing to a man whom I have not seen. But isn’t it wonderful that I don’t feel so when writing to you? Yes, you are right! Our acquaintance would have been no more, had you seen me the very first time. But, mind! there’s inequality between us two in one respect. You can know me instantly if we happen to meet, while I can’t. Now, is that fair?

CHAPALA."

I wrote :

"Dear Miss Wagle: You say we are friends. But, I put it to you ‘Is this friendship?’ When you can’t even know me, how can it be friendship? I say, you must be able to identify me even from amid a crowd of thousands on the strength of friendship! The day you succeed in spotting me, I’ll give you anything you may demand. Not the photo, though!

‘X’"

Days were passing by after this, and no reply from Chapala. For a few days, I was enthusiastic about keeping my ‘word.’ Later the enthusiasm began to abate. In the streets, on the Chowpatty, at the ‘Hanging Gardens,’ my eyes were always alert and on the look-out for somebody. Any pleasant smell seemed to emanate from the ‘Ashes of Violets.’ I began to scrutinise the trams–could I see the young girl who had owned the note-book? God only knows the mysterious secrets entered in that dark Morocco-leather-bound pocket-book!

III: CHAPALA’S NEWS

The other day I turned for shopping while on my way from College with Sulabha. I had intended buying some birthday present for Indu. Sulabha being a connoisseur of dainties, I had persuaded her to accompany me. I purchased a nice brooch for Indu and several other fancy articles. My dear! It’s in my nature! Papa isn’t wrong when he calls me extravagant. There was a veritable bundle of boxes and packets in my hands. We boarded a tram, and Sulabha got down at her destination. I forgot in my haste to dump the pocket-book that contained stamps into my bag. And, later, in the hurry and flurry of getting down with the things, I inadvertently left the note-book. I came home and found it missing.

Oh God! I think I left it in the tram! What on earth could be done now? And I have scribbled anything in it! It was a memento of my dear mother. I had frankly set down my mind in it. My goodness! Suppose it falls into the hands of a young fellow! What will he think of me? What have I wtitten in it? Let me recollect–

A few English-Marathi quotations. Nothing blameworthy in them. They adorn the diary of every young lady-student. That’s a fashion. Well! What more? What did I write on my last birth-day?

"Today I am 19. Still I have not known the aim of life. Why is it that nothing interests me? I attend College as all others do. But I don’t feel pleasure so as to concentrate on College. I have a firm feeling that I have not yet had the experience of the essence of life."

What is blameworthy in this note? Whatever thoughts preoccupy the minds of other young girls–tut! Tut! Don’t suppose that I wrote it because anything of that sort preoccupied my mind! It is true that an evil mind can read it in a bad light! Bosh! I don’t care if anybody does read it in a bad light! Who is going to chastise me for that?

Well! What did I write next? Yes:

"24th July: - Met a young fellow in the tram. These present-day youths strive for the acquaintance of young girls under one pretext or another. But this young man was different. It was raining in torrents. Unfortunately I had forgotten my umbrella at home; and I was wondering how I could get down. But, I had to get down. Perhaps the youth had been watching my confusion. As soon as I got down, he also got down and covered me with his water-proof, not speaking a word! He then called a Victoria and helped me in. I returned him his water-proof. He paid the cabman and ordered him to drive to my place after ascertaining it from me. I think three or four friends of his were there. How I blushed! But the youth walked steadily away, not paying any attention to the jokes of his friends. He didn’t speak a word to me–let alone any inquiry regarding my name or address! This curious conduct of his inspired awe in me. However, I could not but feel irritated by his unpardonable indifference. Why this show of pity and sympathy for me when there’s such indifference! I might have drenched myself in the rain. What business of his? But then! Ah! How gracefully he covered me with his water-proof! Was there even a trace of hesitancy or vacillation in his action? His behaviour had the tone of a friendship ranging over years. I can still feel the touch of that friendship!"

Oh! How shamelessly I wrote all this! Then that note of Aug. 1st –nay, 2nd:

"That youth’s name is Jayant Telang. I knew it today. I met him today quite unexpectedly. I think he didn’t recognize me. I was seated behind him. But why shouldn’t he have recognized me? Did I not recognize him? As if his duty were only to render sympathetic assistance to young girls in each and every street! In that case, how many persons can he remember? An elderly gentleman was beside him. Maybe his uncle or something! I have at least known his name from their conversation. Perhaps it was due to the presence of the old man that he pretended not to know me! Heavens! What a gentleman!"

I remember I wrote seven or eight days afterwards:

"I read in the papers today that Jayant Telang won a Rs. 500 prize and a medal in some University Essay Competition. As I was reading the news again and again, sleep crept on me and I dreamt. What was the dream? Jayant hooked the medal on my breast. Oh! How happy I am feeling today!"

Oh God! What’s to be done now? I have scribbled anything and everything in that note-book!

This morning’s post brought me that dear note-book of mine with a letter from one ‘X’ c/o the daily Dinamani.

Ah! What fun! That’s how it happens! My cousin Mangesh is in the office of Dinamani. And he loves me so! With a little coaxing, I got from him the name and address of this ‘X’ who is none other than Jayant Telang! Oh, dear, dear! That’s how the impossible becomes possible! He found my note-book; but not knowing my name he could not know who Chapala Wagle was!

What a naughty boy! He brazenly usurps my stamps in the note-book as his reward! And he must have read my secrets! What’s to be done? I’m ashamed to show him my face. And look at the oddity of Fate! Just this young man of all people gets hold of my lost note-book! Has he read my secrets? Perhaps he has not. But how to know? I’ll write to him asking him to see me. I can then know the truth. If I find that he has read my diary, I’ll plainly say to him: "I don’t wish to continue any relation with a youth of your type. Boor! Why did you read my diary?" I have written to Jayant today asking him to see me.

Well! This Jayant seems to be very cunning! He doesn’t see me and only makes a thousand and one apologies for not coming. Hypocrite! The fact is that having read my diary he feels ashamed to see me. No! I won’t scold him severely if he comes anytime. I’ll remonstrate with him a bit. Oh! How I long to see him! What will he say when he comes? No use of his water-proof today, the weather being so clear! What will he do if we meet today? It is so chill today; so–and these young men! You can’t say! But will Jayant turn up?

I have written to Jayant that, since he has read my secrets from my diary, he is no longer a stranger to me. And hence I desire to see him and speak to him personally. And if Jayant really turns up! My hand was trembling while I wrote!

Now that’s some fun! Jayant has replied. The photo he has retained is of Sulabha. I had snapped her and kept the print in the note-book intending to present it to her later. And I forgot. And J ayant seems to be under the impression that it is my photo! Had it been really mine, he would have instantly recognized me. And then he would have hastened to see me! I had imagined–no, I can’t write what I had imagined! But look at this naughtiness of Jayant! He usurps the photo of an unknown young girl and says that is his reward! All right! My good sir! Wait and see what I do! But why is he evading me? Is he fighting shy of a tete-a-tete with me because I am unknown to him? Then how dare he keep with him a photo of any young girl? Dear, dear! We can’t imagine what sort of thoughts and ideas lie concealed in the hearts of these young men!

And if Jayant comes across Sulabha in the street and takes her for Chapala? And if their association develops into intimacy? What, oh, then? The two will then no doubt laugh at me. And if that really happens? No! No! I won’t let it happen, at all costs! I’ll write to him everything before that. But how shall I write, and what shall I write? Shall I ask him not to form a friendship with Sulabha? What then will he think of me!

What can I do then? Let me write again.

Oh! Very funny reply this from Jayant! He says: "The day you will succeed in spotting me, I’ll give you anything you may demand. Not the photo, though!" Ah! He still thinks that it’s my photo! He is not aware that while I know him he doesn’t at all know me! No, sir! I won’t let you at that. Let me see how long your illusion continues. Your notion is that you will recognize me as soon as you see me. But the boot is on the other leg! You won’t know me, while I’ll know you!

I write in my diary today–

"I have now found out what I had been missing all these days!"

IV: NEWS FROM JAYANT’S QUARTERS

Dash it! I am listless nowadays. How very entertaining the chats with friends over the morning tea-cup used to be! But they have ceased to Interest me of late. I only roam the streets in my leisure like a mad man.

I had been to the Roxy Theatre the other day. Suddenly the smell of the ‘Ashes of Violets’ was wafted by a breeze on its wings in the darkness. I saw a young girl ahead of me. I was about to call her ‘Chapala’ in my illusion. But then there was light; and she didn’t in the least resemble the girl in the photo! I was saved from a downright disaster!

As I was thus madly staring at her, the girl turned round her smiling face to me. No! I had never seen such a girl! –No! No! I have a faint idea I have seen her somewhere. I don’t remember exactly! Where? Ah! Yes! I met her in a tram about six months ago. There was a torrential rain and she had no umbrella. I called for a Victoria and saw her off. I don’t know her name. Has she recognized me? Probably, yes! Why should she smile, otherwise?

I made bold to accost her after the show, and asked her, "Have you recognized me?"

"Oh! Yes! But could you recognize me after all these days?"

I said with a smile, "I deem myself fortunate in that you remember me. We had not even talked that day!"

"But you never gave me the chance!" said the girl with a smile. "You helped me into the cab and ran away! As if you had perpetrated a great sin! Wasn’t that so, Jayantrao?"

What did she say? Jayantrao? I was stunned! How came she to know my name?

"I hadn’t given out my name to you!"

"Ought one not to acquaint oneself with the name of one’s benefactor?"

"Oh! I’m greatly obliged. But I wonder how you got my name!"

"You made it known to me yourself later on!" she giggled.

"Myself? Never! We never came across each other afterwards! How could I tell you?"

"Just try to recollect."

"Well! Let us move! We are blocking the way."

We came out. I said, "Please excuse me. But you didn’t introduce yourself to me that day. And are you not going to do that today before leaving?"

She laughed boisterously and said. "Try to discover yourself. Let me see your ability."

She boarded a taxi. The taxi moved while she said ‘Good-bye’ with a smile.

Next day I wrote:

"Dear lady: You don’t seem to have made the least attempt to find me out. So many days have passed now! I hope you haven’t forgotten me altogether.

"A curious incident happened last evening. A girl challenged me to find out who she was! Isn’t it funny? I met at the Cinema yesterday a girl whom I had met another time before. She recognized me and, what is more, she seemed to know my name. But to my inquiry as to who she was, she only replied with a smile, ‘If you are so curious, find it out for yourself!’

"Now, friend, will you lend me your help in this respect? I ask you because there’s a great possibility of women knowing other women. I give a brief description of the lady–age: about 20-21; complexion: not very fair; a graceful braid of silken hair with a white flower tucked in it, a gold necklace adorning her neck, golden bangles on her wrists, dark velvet-strapped sandals, a diamond brooch on her left breast, eyes not very large but strikingly dark, an ever-smiling face, no gravity in the expression of her face, voice so soft that it makes the hearer feel that she is fondling him with soft loving caresses, a small dark beauty-spot on her right cheek! Do you know any such Maharashtrian high-class girl? This may sound a problem from Algebra to you; but you will probably solve it. I am placing the problem before you with that idea.

‘X’"

And she replied:

"Dear friend: You appear a nice gentleman indeed! You dedicate your heart to some girl; and now you ask me to track the girl? Good! Bravo!! And what a girl! Small eyes, dark complexion! Why so, sir? Couldn’t you find a girl more beautiful than this your nymph? I wonder what I can say to you! For so many days I have been entreating you to see me; but never have you heeded my entreaties or shown me even your nails! And now you pine for this ugly hag! A real man!

"Go on with your ‘detective’s hunt’! I don’t wish to entangle myself in your affairs. I think some mischievous hussy is making fun of you, seeing you to be such a simpleton. That’s why that wench was careful not to give you any trace of her whereabouts. If you seek my counsel, I’ll advise you not to go after the girl. And don’t worry me with these your worthless accounts of cheap flirtations. You don’t seem to know even this simple fact, that women can’t tolerate any talks about other women. It is nice that you have remembered me at least on this account. You say that I am not at all keen on finding you out. Well! Do you remember your promise? I’ll jog your memory. You had promised to give me anything I might demand. Now, my dear sir, I have not only found you out, but have even carried on conversation with you! And still you haven’t spotted me! It’s a shame! Shall I tell you when I talked to you? I have really talked with you.! Perhaps you were dreaming of that small-eyed dark girl of yours then! How could you be attentive to anything else? So then, sir! Give me my reward. What will you give? I want to see how far you keep up your promise.

"One more thing. The photo which you have cherished with such love and regard is not mine. It belongs to my College friend, Sulabha Nadkarni. Of course, it was taken by me with my camera. Sulabha wants it . Please return it. Or I’ll tell Sulabha that you love at least her photo!

CHAPALA."

Now! I must break my vow! It is truly said that women are full of intrigue. And now I have been entangled in a woman’s intrigue! I’ll go today and at least know who this Chapala Wagle is.

VI: AT LAST!

A chill breeze was biting the limbs in the evening. There was nobody in the front garden in Wagle’s bungalow. But some one opened the gate, seeing me.

I stepped in and was stunned, Who was it that had opened the gate so eagerly? It was the young girl I had met at the Roxy. The same dark tiny eyes! The same sweet smile!

A wonder! Who was Chapala then?

"Won’t you come in?" queried the girl with a smile.

"You - you-

"Yes, yes! you - you!" And she burst into laughter, "Oh, dear! How funny, these men! You are a thorough simpleton Now, haven’t you promised me a reward?

"Promised you a reward?"

"Yes, yes! Me! Haven’t you still guessed that I am Chapala Wagle? You would have known my name on the very first occasion, had you not then walked away in your silent dignity. But what are you staring at?"

"At you!" I ventured.

"Come, come! Tell me the truth. What’s on your mind?"

We two started towards the bungalow, continuing our talk. We were close to each other.

"I was thinking of an age-old truism,"

"What is it ?"

"The sharp acumen possessed by women….."

"Hm, Hm! That apart, you have not still given me the reward you had promised."

I looked about and quickly slipped my ring on to her finger and said smiling, "Now, tell me whether you have won or been cheated?"

Chapala looked straight into my eyes for a moment, shook her head, and said with an air of gravity, "No! I’m not cheated! Too dull a wit on the whole! All right! I’ll try to pull on somehow!"

I was overwhelmed with joy and began humming,

"I’m full of gratitude!" ¹

1 From a Marathi song.