An Interlude in Love

(A STORY)

BY N. S. PHADKE

(Professor, Rajaram College, Kolhapur)

Translated from MARATHI

Cars are all right usually. But they have their own whims. And, like a dog, every car seems to have its day. No wonder, therefore, if Shridhar’s car, which had borne him and his girl friend Priyamvada so meekly and swiftly to Karwar, suddenly refused to work. Of course, Shridhar couldn’t take so philosophic a view of the cussedness of the tin lizzy. He was annoyed. Priyamvada pretended sympathetic annoyance. But in her heart of hearts she was glad–honestly glad.

For, it was against her own wishes that she had agreed to start for Poona after a mere two days’ stay in Karwar. And she had agreed only because she knew that Shridhar had only ten days’ leave, and that it was necessary for him to leave Karwar today if he would reach Poona in time to resume his duties at the office. If she could have had her own way, she would not have left Karwar in such a hurry. She would rather have spent a week there. It was such a beautiful spot–this little port of Karwar. So abundantly full of loveliness. To leave it after a brief two days’ stay was, she had said to herself, like leaving a table after a hurried nibble when it was laid with heaps of rich, tempting, appetising food. But she could not have her own way. She was not free. Of course her dependence did not only arise from the fact that the new car belonged not to her but to Shridhar. There was a deeper and a more poetic side to her bondage. Shridhar was her lover. And though she had not as yet officially and solemnly accepted his love, yet the inquisitive people of her home town, Poona, had since long started guessing and telling each other that young Shridhar of the Shitole family and lovely Priyamvada of the Bhonsles were steadily marching towards the altar. The proprietor of a press in Poona had already called upon Shridhar’s father and shown him several fine specimens of gold-edged invitation cards; and the shrewd eyes of bakers, and florists and contractors had already marked Priyamvada’s father as a prey round which they ought to be ready to flock. Of course popular gossip was, as it always must be, a little exaggerated. But it contained quite a lot more than a grain of truth. Even Priyamvada could not have denied it. And so just as she had exercised her lover’s right by making Shridhar take her to Karwar in his fine new car, she was bound to let him terminate the trip when it suited him. She had, therefore, put her own wish aside and agreed to start today.

Which means you must at once admire this girl Priyamvada for the good sense which she showed in agreeing to leave Karwar today, and also understand the secret delight which she could not help feeling when the car unexpectedly got out of order.

Karwar is a small place, you know. Quiet, almost sleepy. You cannot expect to find there a big Ford’s Service Repairs Station. But even a village has its own super-excellent mechanic, and so Karwar had one. Shridhar took his delinquent car to this man, and on bended knees prayed that she might be put in order without delay. Priyamvada was left alone at the hotel, and, deciding to make the best of this unexpected gift of extra time in Karwar, she walked to the harbour.

The pier at Karwar is a marvelous spot, looking pretty and coquettish at any hour of the day. Priyamvada stood there facing the sea. The sun had mounted high up in the eastern sky behind her. To her left lay a broad strip of land where tall palms covered all the little dwellings, like hens spreading their wings on the little ones. The tin roof of the Customs House to her right was a patch of dazzling red. It was ebb time, and the silver line of the foaming waves glittered several hundred yards away. Tiny fish boats wobbled and raced towards the beach. And far away, just where the sky kissed the sea, the tower of the light-house glinted majestically.

Queer, but as Priyamvada stood on the pier, with her eyes set on the distant horizon, her mind too softly receded from the present and slid into memories of the distant past. To the sweetness of today she preferred the mingled taste of her own yesterdays–some of them happy, some sad. She perched on the big, heavy chain of the railing and swinging, as though she was resting in a hammock, she let her mind forget young Shridhar who was her present lover and whom she was going to marry one of these days, and. taking a three years’ leap into the past, think of the young man whom she had herself loved but lost.

She could not help laughing to herself as she lingered on the memories of those days. How different things would have been, she thought, had not young Raja Nimbalkar suddenly left his uncle’s house and gone, lost into the blue. Instead of watching the distant waves from this Karwar harbour, she would have today been Raja’s wife, the merry queen in a house which, on its outer door, would have borne the proud plate ‘Dr. Rajaram Nimbalkar.’ But things did not happen that way….

Priyamvada had found it very hard to bear her misery. Because her grief had very little to do with the frustration of her hope to become a flourishing doctor’s wife. The greater part of it arose from the humiliation at the thought that Raja had not taken her into confidence before leaving his uncle’s house. Had he frankly talked to her of his desire to join the civil disobedience movement, and of his yearning for self-sacrifice in the service of the country, she would certainly not have stood in his way! For, was it wealth and rank that she had wanted to share with Raja? No, no. She wanted him. She wanted to give herself to him, to bask in the sunshine of his love, and go up the path of life, her hand in his. Rich or poor, he was a darling, and she wanted to have him as her own. But Raja had failed to understand the depth of her love. He had taken her for the usual type of girls who measure happiness by the salaries of their prospective husbands; and he had bid her good-bye with a painfully brief note which merely said that he must go away, that he did not deserve her love since he could not hope to make her happy, and that she must forget him. That was the end. There had been no news of Raja during these three years.

Priyamvada thought of that note from Raja which had then made her cry in anguish. But the memory brought no anguish. It was almost flat and cold. There was only a touch of queerness about it. Her love for Raja looked so distant, unreal, almost ridiculous now. She was here in Karwar with Shridhar who loved her madly. She would soon be married to him, and bear him children…..

What a queer business–this life……

She sighed, and also softly laughed.

Her eyes lifted from the distant horizon, and turned to things nearer her–to the noisy fishermen on the beach unloading the fish from their little boats. And her mind too let go the yesterdays, and returned to the thought of immediate duty. It was time she returned to the hotel. Shridbar must have come with the car. She got up.

She had hardly gone a few yards up the road when somebody greeted her and asked: "Well, isn’t this surprising? How are you still here? You were due to leave in the morning, weren’t you?"

Priyamvada looked up and knew the man who was addressing her. This was Sadashivrao, a happy, idle, do-nothing, elderly citizen of Karwar. He was a typical member of that tribe of people whom you unfailingly meet in every small town–people who make it their business to run into travelers, supply them free and gratis all information regarding places of interest around their mother town, and make it almost obvious by their exuberant talk that they would feel insulted if the visitor took their native place less seriously than the ruins of Rome or Delhi. Priyamvada and Shridhar had had quite lots of fun out of Sadashivrao’s talks during the last two days.

So she could not help smiling when she replied: "Yes, we so much wanted to start. But our car failed, and we’re sort of stranded, you see….."

"Served you right, I daresay," came Sadashivrao’s remark, "I’m so glad you are detained. Now look here, you simply must do the Shiva temple on the hill of which I’ve been telling you. I was feeling so miserable that you were foolishly going without visiting it. It’s a very ancient shrine. It was in 1628 that…."

Priyamvada trembled at the evident prospect of having to listen for the hundredth time the entire history of the temple. She therefore hastened to remark: "Of course, it’s a fine temple, I know. But didn’t I tell you that I’m no good at climbing a hill?"

"Ah, I remember. But then you must at least visit Sadashivgad. It’s almost a suburb of Karwar, separated by a. big river. It’s a very pretty place. Why, I should call it even lovelier than our Karwar, if it comes to speaking the truth. There’s a Fort there. A very interesting historical ruin. For it was in 1771 that….."

Heavens! A barrage of ancient history was coming again! Blast this man’s passion for history and memory for dates!

Priyamvada decided that she must now be a little outspoken, and said: "Look here. Excuse me, but I’ve no interest in historical ruins."

"All right, drop the Fort. But if you are fond of modern attractions, there are quite a number of them in Sadashivgad. There’s a small toys’ factory. A small museum. And a Primary School run on modern lines by a gentleman who came and settled in Sadashivgad two years . How often shall I tell you that it’s a model school? I’ve really tired of persuading you to visit it. You’re the most unbending visitors I’ve ever talked to....."

There was almost a sob in his voice.

Wishing to comfort him Priyamvada said: "We would certainly have visited Sadashivgad. But you know we had no time."

"But you’ll have now."

"There’s no telling. If the car I repaired we might leave immediately after lunch."

"I pray to Heaven then that the car be not repaired."

Priyamvada couldn’t help laughing. "Do you expect your God to grant such wicked prayers?"

There came a faint smile in the man’s face. But he looked serious again, and implored: "You must really decide to visit Sadashivgad. It’s a very easy trip, I tell you. There’s a steam launch which takes you across the Kali river. You can spend a few hours at Sadashivgad and return before dusk. The river is itself a grand sight to see. You’ve no idea how majestic it looks when in the monsoon it roars and rushes, inundating the country with its angry red waters. It was in 1681 that the bridge….."

Anxious to stem the gush of historical information Priyamvada interrupted, "I know, I know. The Kali is obviously a grand thing. The only question is how we shall be able to make our trip to Sadashivgad."

"Why? Where’s the difficulty?"

"It’s like this, don’t you see? If our car is put right in time, we go away in the noon. If it isn’t, Shridhar will have to stay here in Karwar supervising its repairs. Which means that at the utmost I’ll be alone free. And that would be of no use."

"Why not? I’ll take you to Sadashivgad. I’m old enough, I hope, for a woman to trust herself with me. I’ll make the journey blamelessly comfortable. Believe me. I know the contractor who runs the launch. Everybody in Sadashivgad knows me well. Rajabhau, the founder of the school of which I’ve been telling you so much, is a friend of mine. He’ll be so glad….."

Priyamvada eagerly asked: "What’s his name you said?"

"His? Whose?"

"That gentleman’s"

"Which gentleman?"

"Can’t you understand? I mean the gentleman who founded that school."

"Ah, I see. But didn’t I tell you his name was Rajabhau?"

"But what’s his surname?"

" Surname? O, there I must confess that I don’t know. The thing is that I have never had any reason to ask it. Everybody calls him just Rajabhau. Even the school children. And people who come to him for medical treatment call him….."

"Medical treatment? Do you mean to say that this school-master is a doctor as well? Now, this certainly tickles my curiosity, and I feel that at any cost I must go with you to Sadashivgad."

Her face shone with eagerness and delight. And the old man was pleased. For, had he not scored a triumph, and detained this fair visitor for another day?

He accompanied her to the hotel, helped her obtain Shridhar’s permission, and took her to Sadashivgad.

It was a queer launch-the one that took Priyamvada across the Kali. It was just a longish country ferry, and had to be called a ‘launch’ only because it was driven by steam, and had a sort of hood on it. The little steam-engine in it had no lid, and its oil spurted and made dirty pools on the floor. The engine made a rhythmic hissing noise ‘whack, whack’ like that of a flour mill in a village. The man who looked after the engine, wearing shorts, a sporting shirt and a battered hat, and smoking a country ‘bidi,’ had to raise his voice above the engine’s loud throb, as he spoke to his oil-besmeared assistant in his peculiar ‘Konkni’ dialect. And dirty looking passengers were huddled up all around Priyamvada. The old Mahomedan in front of her smelt of cheap country liquor even at that midday hour: and the haggard cock-eyed woman who brushed against her right shoulder smoked incessantly and held a huge dark fish as if it was a common pumpkin, utterly unmindful of the fact that its rough tail pricked into Priyamvada’s side.

And yet, she felt no disgust for any of these things. For, her mind was pleasantly occupied with the dark deep waters of the big river shining under the sun’s full blaze, the huge cargo boats anchored here and there with their tall masts, and the majestic rows of straight soaring palms on the bank of Karwar, now fast receding away; and everything that met her eye assumed a happy and delightful aspect because a tender hope was sprouting in her that perhaps she might soon meet her lover who had suddenly left her three years .

When the launch reached the other side and they got down on the pavement of the crude pier of Sadashivgad, her old companion said: "Let’s stand here for a while if you like, and look on the scene. It’s lovely, isn’t it? Do you notice the high stone wall there to your right? Ah, that’s the famous fort of this place. It was in the seventeenth century that the Portuguese.…"

But Priyamvada had no interest either in the scene or in the lesson in history which he was about to give. She said: "That’s all right. But let’s go first to that school of yours."

It was only a few minutes’ walk to the school. But reaching there, they found that the founder of the school had gone out on some business. It was Sunday.

Sadashivrao took Priyamvada to the school office, and gave her a shaky old chair.

A woman like Priyamvada, coming from a big modern city, cannot tread the streets of a village like Sadashivgad without collecting around herself a pack of wondering, curious urchins.

One of these was pressed into service by Sadashivrao and sent after Rajabhau.

Since she had nothing else to do, Priyamvada tried to interest herself in the things around her. It was a fairly decent building for a village school. But that was all. There was nothing special about it–enough to justify a special call from visitors. A small low building, with a spacious yard in front, bordered with a few plants and bunches of palms. Its veranda would have fitted into the picture of a charitable ‘serai.’ And the office where she sat was a small room, its walls decorated with a map of Karwar district, a cheap gaudy calendar, and printed sheets of moral sayings of Maratha saints and poets….

Was it possible, Priyamvada asked herself, that a learned tasteful man like her Raja would be found in a place like this? …..

She wondered, and experienced the confusion of doubt.

But there was no telling, she told herself. Men who left their homes and dear ones and stepped out into the wide world to serve their Motherland would go and live in any place, wouldn’t they?……

And yet she couldn’t find in any of the things around her the impress of her dear beloved Raja…..

Sadashivrao, who was all this while standing in the veranda, cried to somebody: "This is very good indeed, Mr. Rajabhau. I bring a special guest to visit your school, and you are not on the spot!"

This set Priyamvada’s heart beating fast. Her hand moved to brush her hair, and she swallowed a lump in her throat.

Coming in with Rajabhau, Sadashivrao kept on talking to him. "This is your visitor, you see. She came to Karwar two days , and would have gone today. But I couldn’t let her go, and insisted that she must visit your school at any cost. You can have no idea what persuasion I had to use before she agreed to come."

And with a gesture of introducing the founder of the school, he turned to Priyamvada and said: "This is Rajabhau. We are all so proud of him. He’s a treasure of this place, you know."

But the sight of the ‘treasure’ gave such a cruel shock to Priyamvada. She was amazed, disillusioned, disappointed. She even forgot to get up and greet him.

For, Mr. Rajabhau who stood before her was a middle-aged man, short and stubby, with thick glasses behind which dull foolish eyes gaped, a little wooden chest in hand–most probably containing bottles of homeopathic pills–and a rough towel thrown across a shoulder to be handy to wipe the powder of smelling tobacco, dark traces of which yet lingered about his nostrils!

In that instant crumbled and perished all the sweet dreams of a resurrection of past love with which Priyamvada had busied herself since morning. She wondered how she did not break into loud sobs.

She hurriedly went through the farce of going round the school. And when Rajabhau brought her to the office, and placed the visitors’ book before her, she hatefully opened it and wrote: "This school was a big surprise for me."

Once out into the street, she said to Sadashivrao: "Now we mustn’t tarry a minute longer here. Let’s go to Karwar immediately."

The old man halted in surprise and asked: "But don’t you want to see the fort?"

"No."

"The museum?"

"No."

"Then at least let’s go to the temple. I’m sure you will like it. There’s a man there who reads your fortune free of any charge. Every visitor sees him. The temple is quite nearby."

"No. I don’t care. I know my fortune too well."

He made a pathetic face, and took her to the launch.

Shridhar was surprised to see Priyamvada come , and asked: "What does this mean? I thought you wouldn’t return till nightfall. Did you see everything at Sadashivgad?"

But she paid no attention to him, went into the inner apartment, and threw herself on the cot.

The journey must have tired her, thought Shridhar. He followed her, and sitting on the edge of the cot, tried to please her, saying, "It seems you are tired. Are you?"

But instead of answering him, she asked: "Is the car fit and ready?"

"O, yes."

"Then let’s leave this place immediately."

"How can we? You know we must spend the night here. Motoring during the night is impossible in these parts. We’ve to cross eight miles through a dark jungle, don’t you remember?"

But he found her inattentive to his words, wrapt in her own thoughts.

"Dirty luck," she muttered.

He couldn’t understand what she meant–which link in the chain of her secret thoughts brought forth the remark. But he refrained from asking. He knew that it would only aggravate the rawness of her mood. So he silently went out of the room.

At night, however, after they had their meal, he suggested: "Let’s go out on the beach. I’m sure you’ll feel better there. There’s such lovely moonlight. And besides, this is our last night here."

There were still wrinkles on Priyamvada’s forehead, and she kept pressing her temples with her palm. But, only after a slight hesitation, she agreed.

So they went out. Hand in hand they walked to and fro on the glistening damp sands of the beach, and, at last, corning upon a lonely small fishing boat which looked sort of abandoned, they sat in it.

They sat speechless and mute. The utter silence that surrounded them, and the flood of dreamy light that filled all quarters, seemed to create in them a distaste for conversation, and made each of them prefer and pursue silent thoughts.

At last Shridhar asked her: "What are you so deeply thinking of?"

Priyamvada gave a start, and asked: "Did you say anything?"

"What are you thinking of?"

"Thinking of? O nothing..."

"Then why are you so silent?"

"As if you said anything..."

"Yes, there’s something which I’m saying to myself every minute. But I don’t know how to say it aloud."

"This sounds mystical."

"Can’t you guess what I want to say?"

"I’m no mind reader."

"Ah, you girls! Perfect pretenders! My dear, look here..." He suddenly caught her arm and pulled her.

The wooden seat on which they were perching wastoo narrow, and they both fell down into the hollow of the boat.

Priyamvada was scared and cried: "What’s this?"

He put his lips to her ear and whispered: "The sweet end of our trip."

He laughed.

She didn’t.

On the contrary she sighed heavily, and, half to herself, muttered: "Yes. The end!

In his own utter happiness, Shridhar could neither notice the pain in her sigh, nor suspect any deep meaning in her utterance.