The Book and the Bride

BY N. S. PHADKE, M.A.

(Professor, Rajaram College, Kolhapur)

[Translated from Marathi by the Author]

A marriage is caused in several ways, of course. Love may bring it about; parental authority may order it; riches may tempt a person into it; and so on and so forth. But can you ever conceive a book, carelessly left at the booking window of a railway station, leading up to a marriage? You’d naturally call it absurd. And yet, that’s exactly what happened in the case of Bhargava.

On a certain Sunday afternoon he went to the Bori Bunder station, from where he intended to take a local train to Thana. His uncle, who lived there, had called him. Bhargava knew why. His uncle would say to him, as he had already said a dozen times before:

"Look here, Bhargava, it’s high time now that you got married. You are an M.A., well settled in life as a Professor in a college, and you’ve put nearly thirty years behind your . How long would you remain a bachelor now? Don’t you realise that your mother is anxious to have a daughter-in-law in the house?

And Bhargava also knew what he would say in reply:

"What’s the hurry, uncle? I am not really grown up as you and mother imagine. Often I go without a shave for days together, and my face doesn’t look rough or shabby. I feel like a youngster still."

His uncle would laugh at the joke, but make a very serious face again and try to impress upon him how imperative it was that he soon jumped into the matrimonial trenches.

All the way to Bori Bunder, Bhargava’s mind was busy constructing his conversation with his uncle.

He had to wait a little at the booking office. He found a girl standing at the window. She got her ticket and hurried to away to the platform.

Bhargava couldn’t see her face. But she was a smart girl, to be sure. A tall pretty thing, proudly walking away! He kept gazing at her –at the blue border of a simple white ‘saree’ dangling from her shoulders to the hips, at the ample braid of her dark hair contrasting with her fair complexion, at the delicate little hand which clutched at the loose end of her garment blown by the breeze, and at the little feet that hurried in such a perfect rhythm!

When she was lost in the crowd, Bhargava turned to the window and, flinging a coin on the counter, said, "One Thana, please."

As he was about to gather his ticket, his elbow touched a book. Yes, it was a book. A Seven shilling six pence novel.

Possibly it belonged to the girl. She must have left it there in her hurry.

Yes, it was her book clearly enough. And it was also clearly his duty, thought Bhargava, to return it to her. He picked up the book, and ran down to the platform.

His eyes searched for her. But she was not to be found on the platform. She must have taken her seat in the train. Bhargava peered into every compartment–even in the ladies’ compartment, but in vain. He was wondering if he ought to hunt for her in the guard’s brake; and perhaps he would have done it. But just then he heard the train whistle, and had to give up the idea. The girl had evidently boarded another local train.

Though it was now impossible for Bhargava to trace the girl, nobody could prevent him from thinking of her. So he let his mind do that. It was quite likely, it occurred to him, that the girl had inscribed her name on the book. He eagerly opened it. Yes, there it was–her name!

A prosaic name obviously, written in a timorous illegible hand: Gangoo Kulkarni. But Bhargava thought the name very musical and the hand so beautiful. He kept gazing at it. What a pity it was, he thought, that she didn’t write her address under the name. He chafed at the inadequacy of the inscription. Even went to the length of declaring to himself that, if ever he was made the Dictator of India, the first ordinance he would promulgate would be that handsome girls must write their complete addresses on their books. But of course there was no prospect of his becoming an Indian Mussolini in the near future, and his chagrin didn’t help him much at the moment. The only comfort he could offer to his mind was the hope that it wouldn’t be long before, by chance, he would meet the girl again somewhere. There was no telling when. And he therefore decided to carry the girl’s book always under his arm.

He was repeating this resolve to himself for the hundredth time when he went up the steps of his uncle’s house. He was more prepared today than usually to blast his uncle’s talk of marriage. It was clear and simple, he thought, that someday soon he would meet this girl Gangoo, strike a warm friendship with her, and by his passionate love carry her off her feet…..He would curtly tell his uncle today that he had almost fixed his marriage, and therefore people need not worry about it.

Listening to his uncle’s talk, he was inwardly watching for an opportunity to tell him about the girl he loved, and to ask him to end the talk. But wonder of wonders! His uncle began to talk of Gangoo! And Bhargava, who had come to scoff, remained to listen!

It appeared that an old college friend of Bhargava’s uncle, Rangrao Kulkarni, who had served as a Government doctor in the Bijapur and Sholapur districts, was now transferred to Mahabaleshwar. He had a daughter named Gangoo, studying in one of the Bombay colleges. He now intended to marry her, and wanted to know if he could hope to have Bhargava for his son-in-law.

His, uncle said: "I must tell you, Bhargava, that Doctor Rangrao is quite a rich fellow, and since he has no son, all his money would go to the man who would marry Gangoo. Doctor Rangrao tells me in his letter that his daughter would be spending her vacation with him at Mahabaleshwar, and he proposes that you should pay him a short visit, so that you can make the acquaintance of his daughter and decide for your-self how far she would suit you."

How far she would suit him!

Bhargava wanted to cry that she would suit his hand like a perfect glove!

But the coincidence that his uncle should be talking to him of the very girl after whom his own heart had fled was too much of a surprise for him, and he kept silent.

His uncle misunderstood his silence, and pleaded; "I say, Bhargava, you mustn’t argue with me this time. This is a fine chance for you. Daughters of rich parents do not lie scattered on the footpaths of Bombay. I must admit, of course, that I’ve never seen this girl Gangoo, and have no idea of her looks. My friend Rangrao never struck me as handsome; and having spent so many years in the hot climate of Bijapur and Sholapur, he may now have developed into a perfectly ugly fellow. But who knows, perhaps his daughter might be……"

Bhargava almost said, "O uncle, I know she’s a lovely girl. I saw her only an hour ." But he controlled himself. He must not give out his secret. What he therefore actually said was,

"Uncle, do you take me for a fool who judges a girl merely by her looks?"

"No, no, I don’t mean quite that. But I hinted at the possibility. And I can’t deny that good looks are after all a big asset."

Bhargava screwed up his nose, and shrugged his shoulders, and declared,

" Maybe. But if you ask me, I set very little value on a fair complexion or a straight nose by itself."

His uncle was immensely pleased. And it was decided that Bhargava should pay a visit to Dr. Rangrao.

When, a week later, Bhargava got down at the bus stand at Mahabaleshwar, he thought himself to be the happiest man on earth. At least, very nearly the happiest. For, only a few minutes were left between now and the blissful moment when he would enter the house of his host, and set his eyes on the girl of his heart.

The sight of his host, Dr. Rangrao, however, who was present at the bus stand to receive him, was quite a shock to Bhargava. He knew of course that the doctor wouldn’t snatch a prize at a beauty competition. But he had not imagined him to be so repulsively ugly. A very short fellow with an oily black complexion and a hog-like fat neck in which a sweat-soiled hard collar stuck, a Chinese nose difficult to discover between two thick lenses behind which small tired eyes blinked–the doctor, with a big ‘chirot’ in his mouth, looked almost like a big vicious worm.!

When the worm grinned and greeted him, Bhargava’s honest desire was to beat a retreat from Mahabaleshwar by the first available bus.

But his reason argued with his impulse: "Don’t be a fool, young man. What if the doctor is as ugly as the first primitive monkey? You aren’t asked to marry him. You’ve come for his daughter. And you know how ravishingly charming she is. Roses have thorns, and so have pretty girls disgusting fathers!..."

He took courage in both hands, and with one of them shook the hairy hand of the doctor which waited in a gesture of welcome.

When he entered the drawing-room of the doctor’s house, he saw a girl getting up from the sofa in surprise and running away to the inner apartment. He could get only a flitting glimpse of her. But he was dead certain that it wasn’t Gangoo.

And yet it must be she.

For the doctor called after her, "Gangoo, you fool, what makes you run away like a hare? Come, come. Do you fear that our guest will eat you up like a cannibal? Look at these girls, Mr. Bhargava, they go to schools and colleges, and are yet as timid as sparrows. Ha! ha! ha! All right. I say Gangoo, now bring the tea here yourself, and that would serve our purpose."

Bhargava was simply astounded.

How could this be Gangoo?…….

The girl whom he had seen at the Bori Bunder station?

That lovely blue border of a snow-white ‘saree’ dancing on a slender delicate form! And this unclean garment hiding shapeless broad hips!–Those exquisite feet dancing to a rhythm! And these malish rough hairy legs!–That ample braid of raven black hair! And this little speck-like knot of smoke coloured fibres!

No, no. There must be some beastly mistake.

It was a confused and annoyed Bhargava who took a wash, and changed his clothes, and returned to the drawing-room.

He was telling himself that within a few minutes Gangoo would arrive with tea, and everything would be explained.

But things became even more confusing when Gangoo brought the tea. For, there remained no doubt whatever that the black, fat, shapeless girl who stood blushing before him was the doctor’s daughter, and that her name was Gangoo Kulkarni! And there was also no doubt whatever that the Gangoo Kulkarni he had seen the other day at the station was a pretty maid of uncommon charm!

How could this utter contradiction be explained!

At the first suitable opportunity on the next day, Bhargava said to his host,

"I must leave tomorrow."

The doctor whipped his ‘chirot’ from his mouth in surprise, and unmindful of the ash that dropped on his shirt front, exclaimed,

"Tomorrow? No, no. How could you go tomorrow? You know that you came here for a certain business, and unless it is settled..."

Bhargava had anticipated these words, and, like a captive soldier planning his escape from the enemy’s camp with minute care, had a rejoinder ready. He waved his hands and said,

"My business? O, it’s as good as settled, you know."

"Settled?" the doctor asked with glee, "Do you really mean it? I’m so glad that you liked my daughter Gangoo……"

"Liked your daughter? I confess I don’t quite follow you. What has my business to do with your daughter?"

"Why? Didn’t you come specially to meet her?"

"You seem to be fond of joking, doctor. I came to see the Private Secretary to the Governor. I had an interview with him yesterday, and am to have another today. That’s why I said my business is almost over. What should I have to do with your daughter? I’m already married, you know."

"What?"

"I said I’m already married. And if you can’t believe my word, please meet Mrs. Bhargava."

He took out the photograph of a cinema actress which he had already placed in his coat-pocket, ready to be produced at the right moment.

The doctor gazed at the actress, moistening his lips as though he looked at a juicy fruit beyond reach. Then he asked Bhargava,

"But how did your uncle then write to me like that?"

"Like what? I only know that when I told him that I was leaving for Mahabaleshwar, he asked me not to stay in a hotel but with you, since you were an old friend of his. I’ve no idea what he wrote to you about me."

"I tell you, I had clearly suggested to him that I would be glad to have his nephew for a son-in-law. He wrote to me in return that this was quite a good idea indeed, and that he would send his nephew on a short visit to us."

Bhargava burst into a loud laughter. And although the doctor kept asking ‘why?’ the only reply he made was to go on laughing.

At last the doctor almost went down on his knees and prayed, "Please explain what makes you laugh so."

Bhargava then took compassion on him. "I can understand everything now. It’s my love marriage that has led to all this misunderstanding."

"How do you mean?"

"It’s like this, doctor. It’s true that I’m married. And it’s also true that my uncle doesn’t know about it."

"Why?"

"Because I married this girl secretly,"

"O…..!" wailed the doctor. And getting up he ran out of the room, like a man who had seen a ghost.

In that instant Bhargava vividly realised the feelings of a lamb miraculously rescued from the butcher’s hands. He wanted to dance for sheer joy. At least to sing a merry tune in a full-throated voice. But he remembered that people who are granted interviews by the Private Secretary to the Governor do not do such things. He therefore went to his room, and began to take out the shaving set from his bag.

There–just near the shaving set–lay the book!

The book that he had found at the booking office!

Bhargava frowned and swore.

Round that little book he had woven no end of sweet dreams; and he had prepared a hundred sparkling witty remarks to be made when returning the book to its charming owner! But now all the dreams lay shattered. And all his clever remarks would remain unuttered!

He felt such a strong impulse to pick up that mocking book, and hurl it through the window.

But no. After all, the book belonged to Gangoo, and it was still his duty to return it to her. She may be ugly and undesirable. But that didn’t give him a right to fling away the book that belonged to her. He had cleverly and finally squashed all chances of his being considered a suitor for her hand. And he had therefore no reason to bear any ill-will towards her. He must return her book.

There was a tinkle of bangles at the door.

Gangoo peeped in and asked, "O, are you alone? I thought father was here. Did he go to the hospital?"

"Yes." And showing her the book, Bhargava asked, "Is this yours.?"

She took it from him, and with surprise and joy in her voice, replied, "Of course, it is my book. But how and where did you find it?

Bhargava told her about the girl who had left the book at the window of the booking office.

Gangoo laughed. "O, I see. It’s queer indeed for a girl to leave books at ticket windows. But Shobhana is queer girl, always doing something funny."

" Shobhana? Who’s Shobhana?"

"She’s a friend of mine. She took this book from me, lost it, searched for it for several days, and then started arguing that she had returned it to me. She’s that clever to be sure. But now that I know what really happened to the book, I’d like to playa trick or two and have lots of fun out of Shobhana when she comes here…..."

"What did you say? She’s coming here?"

"Yes, of course. She’s due to arrive here by the afternoon bus today."

"Good gracious!"

Gangoo didn’t understand his words. But they evidently meant that Bhargava found himself in a queer fix. He had very successfully pretended that his business was over and that he was in a hurry to leave Mahabaleshwar. And now Shobhana would arrive in the afternoon, which meant that he would have a chance to begin his real business, and he would like to stay on for a few days more. How could he manage it all?

But he did.

The Governor’s Private Secretary would not let him go. And how could he displease him? To have listened to Bhargava’s account of how the Governor’s Private Secretary urged him every day to prolong his stay would have been enough for anybody to suspect that he and the Secretary were together planning some big coupe in the administration of the Bombay Presidency!

And the funniest part of it all was that nobody knew when Bhargava actually went to the Government House, and saw the Secretary. For he danced attendance for all the twenty-four hours of the day on Shobhana, and the girl too seemed not only to like it but also to arrange for it cleverly.

On the day after her arrival, for instance, she went to his room and, showing him her mandolin, said,

"Will you please fix up a string to this? I know how to play. But I’m so hopeless when it comes to fixing a string."

Bhargava took the instrument from her, mounted the string and began to turn the key. But all his attention was riveted on Shobhana. He turned the key almost like a savage, and–‘twang’! The string snapped and rolled into a little coil.

Shobhana gave such a sweet peal of laughter. "Thank you indeed! That settles it. There’s no hope of getting a new string here at Mahabaleshwar. Give me the mandolin. I’ll lock it up in its case."

"But why? I might have a new string in my bag."

"O, you play the mandolin then?"

"Just a little."

"That’s modesty, I suppose. Now you must not only fix up the string, but you must also first play to me."

"Yes, Your Highness. I’m an offender, and must take whatever penalty Your Highness imposes."

They both laughed, and never knew that while they played and sang and talked, hours passed by, and the shadows of trees in the courtyard stretched longer, and the tops of houses began to glisten with the soft red light of the setting sun.

The Private Secretary to the Governor–God bless him!–permitted Bhargava to leave Mahabaleshwar exactly on the day when Shobhana declared her intention of going to Bombay.

The two young people naturally traveled together.

As the Bori Bunder station was approaching, Shobhana said to Bhargava. "Now you must come to us often. You’ve promised to teach me the mandolin. You mustn’t forget."

"O, now" how can I forget? But you too must occasionally come to my humble abode."

"Of course, why not? I so much wish to get to know Mrs. Bhargava."

Mrs. Bhargava!…..

Ah, yes. There was a Mrs. Bhargava, he remembered….And now she was going to prove very troublesome!

Shobhana had evidently had talks with Gangoo or her father, and believed that he was married.

This explained, it now occurred to Bhargava, why although Shobhana had been very sweet to him during her stay at Mahabaleshwar, she had sort of retired in a shell and frowned when-ever he had purposely put a ring of intimacy in his talk.

Ah, dash it! This fictitious wife whom he had created as a weapon against Gangoo was going to make a mess of his love affair.

For a moment Bhargava thought of making a clean breast of everything, and telling Shobhana…..

But no, he told himself, he had rather wait for a suitable opportunity. Haste would not exactly be the best policy. He therefore only said,

"O certainly, certainly. You’ll get to know Mrs. Bhargava. I’m sure you two will like each other very much."

"Really? Is she very loving?"

"Very. In fact she seems to be made exactly to your pattern."

During the week that followed, Bhargava paid several visits to Shobhana’s house. He liked her people, and they too all liked him. Shobhana began to wonder, however, why he didn’t propose to take her to his house. At last she said to him,

"Why not bring Mrs. Bhargava to us tomorrow? Don’t you remember you promised to introduce her to me?"

"I know, I know……er...but the trouble is..."

" Don’t invent any excuses. If you don’t want to bring Mrs. Bhargava here, I shall go with you and call on her. Shall I?"

"Excellent. But I must warn you, Shobhana, that you must come a little prepared if you really want to know Mrs. Bhargava."

" Prepared? What do you mean? Prepared for what?"

"You must forgive me, I can’t explain. I can only say that you’ll have to make up your mind before coming to my house."

Innocent Shobhana grew emphatic and said, "Yes, yes. I have made up my mind."

"If you have, I have. And that would settle everything. But look here, write on this paper that we have both made up our minds…..

Shobhana brushed aside the paper. "You’re the limit really when you start joking. Why do you want me to write down my resolve?"

"Lest you may go upon it later." He laughed.

Shobhana felt a little confused. What did he exactly mean by his words? And why did he laugh so?

On the next day Bhargava took Shobhana to his house. But he kept talking to her in her room, and showed no intention of calling Mrs. Bhargava to meet her.

With a view to suggest his duty, Shobhana looked at the photographs in the room, and asked, "Which is Mrs. Bhargava’s photograph?"

"I haven’t had her photographed as yet."

"Don’t fool me. I know you showed Mrs. Bhargava’s photograph to Gangoo’s father."

"O that photograph, you mean? Er….but as it happens, Mrs. Bhargava has gone away to her mother."

"Why didn’t you tell me so then yesterday?"

"I forgot all about it. And today I’ve had very glad tidings."

"Is Mrs. Bhargava returning?"

"No.She…..er…..died."

And he laughed.

Shobhana felt shocked and astounded.

She couldn’t bear the sight of this man laughing at the sad demise of his wife.

With a stern frown she remarked, "I thought you loved Mrs. Bhargava."

Bhargava moved near her, and tried to take her hand in his.

But she jerked his hand, and moved away.

"I had taken you for a gentleman," she hissed. "But what a fool I was. You laugh at your wife’s death, and also insult a girl like me! I had imagined you to be very loving and kind-hearted and respectable. But you seem to be a wolf under a sheepskin. I don’t wish to stay here for a moment."

She was about to walk out of the room.

But Bhargava held her, and pleaded, with a smile on his lips,

"Please, for God’s sake, please listen to me."

Shobhana shot an angry glance at him.

But Bhargava didn’t let her go. In a very soft and persuasive voice he said:

"Look here, Shobhana, don’t misjudge me. Listen. I had created a fictitious wife, and today I killed her. Where’s the hard-heartedness If I laugh at her death? And how do I cease to be honourable if I hold the hand of the girl I love, because I want to ask her to be my wife?

He held both her hands now, and looked at her with all the soft, tender appeal of true love.

Shobhana felt a strange wave of happiness sweep over her. But she couldn’t help asking in surprise,

"What do you mean? Created a fictitious wife?"

"Yes, I’ll tell you everything."

And he told her the whole story.

Shobhana laughed till her sides ached.

"Now, Shobhana," said Bhargava. "I’ll call my mother.

"Why for?"

"It’s like this. Just as I had promised to show you my wife, I had also promised mother. You and mother will now both see her at once. I’ll bring mother here, so that she can see you. And I’ll make you stand here before the big mirror, so that you can have a look at my future queen."

He almost lifted and carried her across the room.

Shobhana sweetly protested,

"But you seem to take my consent for granted. When did I give it?"

"Ah, a woman’s first consent is never given. It’s to be taken thus."

He pressed her hands and bent down to kiss them.

Shobhana overlooked this liberty. That is, she closed her eyes.