Second Marriage

(A Story)

By SRIMATI H. V. SAVITRAMMA
(Rendered from Kannada by K. Sampathgiri Rao)

Krishnappa was by no means lacking in a sensitive perception of things. He had seen how second marriages often ended. When his wife Bhagirathi died he was quite reluctant to marry again, though many desirable girls were offered to him in marriage. After a time, however, he could not bear his loneliness. He had no children. He was working hard and earning well–but for whom? Life seemed void of meaning and purpose. True, he was forty-five. But these days young men waited till they were thirty to marry….In the end, he persuaded himself to marry Bharati, a girl of sixteen. She was good-looking, and she had passed the Intermediate examination. Krishnappa considered himself lucky to have got so good a girl for his second wife. That was what Krishnappa thought–in the beginning. Within two years he knew that his second wife lived with him like a lost child, her dreams shattered, and with no eagerness for life. She was handsome. She had a keen intellect. These made the situation worse for him. He repented. Was this young girl to be tied down for ever to an old man like him? True, he thought, he did not look as old as his forty-seven years. His hair was just beginning to grey. He had not quite lost his own zest for life. He had status and wealth. He had fondly hoped that these would duly impress Bharati and reconcile her to her position. But it was an illusion. Bharati could not reconcile herself to her marriage. Her home was a prison to her. And her life was like a desert. Krishnappa did all he could to make her cheerful. He bought her books to read. He bought her sarees to wear. But Bharati would only say, “Why do you waste money on these?” She showed no interest in them or in him. It damped his spirit. Not that Bharati had not tried to pull herself together. She could not blame Krishnappa for the marriage. She could only blame her own father who had acted so unjustly by her...She had lost her mother. Her father had married again. Her step-mother decided that the step-daughter should marry Krishnappa. Her father yielded...If she had only been allowed to continue her studies for two more years! And to complete them with a degree from the University! She had pleaded with her father. And her father was impatient. The last wish to which she gave tearful expression in her father’s home was turned down.

Krishnappa returned early from his work. He invited Bharati for a stroll in the evening. Her head was heavy, and was aching. Without argument she changed her dress and accompanied her husband. It had rained in the afternoon. Nature looked fresh and pleasant. The breeze was fragrant with the smell of jasmine in the park. There came a glow of joy into Bharati’s heart. But, just across the hedge, a young couple, Kantam and his wife, were also having a stroll, and their laughter and their talk came floating on the breeze. Krishnappa was talking too. Bharati was hardly listening to him. He was telling her that he was reaching the next higher grade in his service. It did not excite her. “Is that so?” was all she could bring herself to say. Near the church they passed by the pastor. He had not met Krishnappa for many years.

“How are you, Mr. Krishnappa? Is that your daughter?”

“No, it is my wife,–my second wife,” said Krishnappa, and he felt like a criminal confessing.

“Excuse me. Indeed, I am sorry...I am so sorry,” said the pastor.

“Daughter! Daughter!” These words sounded in Bharati’s ears at each step. Krishnappa was only a year or two younger than her father. And he was her life’s partner! Krishnappa’s mind was agitated too. They sat down by the edge of the canal. She was the first to suggest resting.

“Are you tired?” asked Krishnappa.

“I have a bad headache.”

“Shall we go and see the doctor?”

Bharati shook her head. Krishnappa watched her, and could not contain himself.

“Bharati, you seem to be tired of me.”

“Tired of you?..No….Not at all…..Is it anything I have said or done?….Please tell me!”

“No, it is not like that!….I wish to believe that you are not tired of me. But I don’t. I am not so silly or conceited to believe that.”

“Why?...What have I done? Or not done?…What have I said?”

“Nothing at all, Bharati. It is all my fault. I am owning up my fault...I should not have married again. I kept hoping that my love...and a life of comfort...would satisfy you.”

Krishnappa was looking at the far-away hills as he spoke. Deep pain was visible on his face.

“Please do not reproach yourself...or reproach me. You have done me no wrong! Sometimes I feel bored, just bored. No reflection on you, or on our life together, believe me.”

“Why don’t you then go fora change to your father’s place?…..suggested Krishnappa.

“I have nothing to go there for,” replied Bharati.

Krishnappa’s face brightened. Bharati turned to him eagerly.

“But I have a wish...if you care to grant it!”

“Certainly, Bharati. You have only to ask.”

Bharati spoke with much hesitation.

“I wish to study in a college for two years. Permit me to leave this place, join a college in Mysore, be in a hostel, and continue my studies...If you do not care to, you need not even pay for my studies.”

Krishnappa’s face fell. Bharati saw his disappointment. There was silence, and then his consent, and then other talk in driblets breaking long silences……

“Let us go home,” said Bharati.

Krishnappa got up mechanically.

Bharati continued her studies, and quickly the two years passed by. She came home in the vacations. She had neither the mood nor the time then to hold long conversations with Krishnappa. He used to come home jaded. She used to be busy with her studies, or with her friends...some of whom would come down with her to see Sivasamudram...its Hydro-Electric Station and the Cauvery Falls. She used to take them round to the beautiful spots around, like the Shimsha Falls and the sand-dunes of Tulkao. The rest of her time was spent in the club, at tennis or at cards. Whenever he could Krishnappa joined Bharati and her friends. And the holidays would end...

This time Bharati was coming after finishing her studies. There was no fear of her going . This was a load off Krishnappa’s heart. The two years slipped by without making him really unhappy. Bharati was always considerate. She always took his permission to do anything. She made him feel that she would return a more contented person.

Bharati was making the journey by bus. She was looking out of the window. As she approached her house she realised that a tolerable chapter of her life was coming to an end. She was going to her old mechanical life, to a prison. Other girls could not be feeling like her. To them life with a husband could not be so dull. Krishnappa was a good person. He was a patient man. He could understand other people’s points of view. He had agreed to her being away at college for two years. She saw it all. And if she could not give him her love, it surely must be her fault. But, was it!...

Krishnappa was waiting for her at the bus destination. It was a very warm day. He covered his head with an uttariyam, and he was perspiring profusely. The servant carried her baggage to the house.

“So now your studies are over,” said Krishnappa. There were signs of relief on his face and in his voice.

It hurt her that this should be his first thought.

“Let the results be known first.”

“You are looking break, Bharati. You worry needlessly. Why do you bother about studies and examinations when I am here? Why not just live in comfort?”

“I am here to live in comfort.”

Krishnappa did not, know why, but at this precise moment he remembered that he was apprehensive of late whether he had insured his life sufficiently to protect her. He wondered whether it would please God to give him as long a life as would enable him to take care of her all the time...She added, “I was anxious to study, not to seek a livelihood. Not all girls who study in colleges do so in order to earn.”

“You are home with me. It is all I want...Do you know, I was beginning to feel very lonely...”

Bharati got up to bathe and to get ready to cook.

It was Bharati’s birthday. On the previous day Krishnappa had gone on leave and had been to Kollegal to purchase a saree for her. He bought a dark silk saree and a white silk blouse piece. He paid extra to the tailor and got the blouse made in time for the morrow. He even sat with the tailor for a time. Bharati took an oil-bath the next morning, and wore the silk saree. ‘She looks charming’...thought Krishnappa again and again. All through the day Bharati was in a merry mood. She was just twenty. And he, more than twice her age, felt foolishly happy for the time being.

“Shall I invite Viswanath for dinner?”

Viswanath was a distant relation of Krishnappa. Krishnappa had secured a job for him at Sivasamudram. When Bharati was away for her studies, Viswanath spent most of his time with Krishnappa.

“Please don’t. We two suffice. Let there be no third person.” Krishnappa felt elated. She had said, “We two!” The significance, as he thought, made him happy. With some hesitation he added, “Poor fellow: he cooks his own food, and is all alone.”

“Call him then, if you must.”

Krishnappa did not invite Viswanath. But, of his own accord, Viswanath came after they had finished their meal. Bharati had brought Krishnappa his pansupari, and sat down with him, watching him chew, and thinking of other things. “Why does not time stand still? Why can it not be this moment for ever?”–thought Krishnappa. “I must write to my friend Vijaya. She said she would pay us a visit,” said Bharati...There was a jolt in Krishnappa’s mind.

“Do write to her to come. Do by all means.” And then came the knock at the door. Bharati went to open it. Viswanath came in, and took his seat. Bharati went in.

“I thought of sending word to you, Viswanath. It is Bharati’s birthday.” Bharati brought a couple of jelabisand some payasamand a glass of water for Viswanath. She drew a chair and sat down.

“I am the uninvited guest! And in a couple of days there will be another occasion for this uninvited guest!” said Viswanath.

“What could that be for?” asked Krishnappa.

“The results of her examination are to be published in two days.”

“Let us wait, and see if I pass,” said Bharati.

“You surely will! And what do you propose doing afterwards?” asked Viswanath.

“What is there to do afterwards?”...asked Bharati.

“She wished to study, and she has had her wish. Her health is upset. Why should she do anything afterwards?”–asked Krishnappa, not quite pleased with Viswanath’s solicitude about Bharati’s future course.

Viswanath realised that Krishnappa was displeased. This was no occasion to argue. Viswanath remained silent. Bharati watched her husband’s face. She said nothing.

When after some days the results were published and she had come out successful, there was no celebration and no enthusiasm.

Her friend’s arrival was a great comfort to Bharati. Vijaya and she went on talking about their college friends. For the time being Krishnappa nearly lost trace of Bharati. There were no regular hours in the household.

“Do you know, Bharati, why I came in such a hurry, to be your guest?”...asked Vijaya. Bharati shook her head.

“I am getting married in about two months. My future is all uncertain.”

“You never told me about it….Who is he?”

“He is a mad wanderer! A doctor, too! I don’t know if he earns at all. He kept running up to Mysore every three days...just to have a glimpse of my beautiful face! Even otherwise he does not stick to his place, Bangalore. He writes two letters to me every day...one in the morning, one in the evening...I haven’t received his letters for two days now.”

Bharati was thrilled, hearing about such madness. Such playfulness in love was not her lot in life.

“What if you get married? Why don’t you bring him along with you here for your honeymoon.”

“Seeing him, you may lose your regard for me too!–And what will your good husband think of it all?”

Bharati saw the point. Krishnappa would never understand such mad people!...Or, had he indulged in similar madness with his first wife?

Did his first wife have the joyous experiences that Vijaya was now having?

Bharati could not sleep that night. The clock struck a late hour.

“Aren’t you sleepy yet, Bharati?” asked Krishnappa softly.

“Not quite,” replied Bharati.

Krishnappa came and sat by her. He held her hand and stroked her hair. Bharati pressed his hand, and asked suddenly:

“Bhagirathi was very good-looking, wasn’t she?”

Krishnappa was taken a.

“Why do you ask that?”

“I just wanted to know,” said Bharati.

Krishnappa’s mind was troubled by past memories.

“Yes. She was good-looking.”

“When she passed away, you felt very lonely and dreary, didn’t you?”...

“I did. A death like hers after so many years together, leaves one helpless….Till you came like a new brightness into my life, I felt very dreary indeed.

Bharati’s mind was still troubled by doubt. Had she really brought light into his life? Or had she merely made him age more rapidly? Bharati could not fathom her own mind. Had she done wrong to Krishnappa?...Or had Krishnappa done wrong to her! Whatever it be, there was a void for both, and real satisfaction for neither…..

Viswanath, returning from the club after playing tennis, met Bharati and Vijaya on the bank of the canal. Viswanath was wearing a white sweater. He was wearing long white pants and appeared taller than ever. His hair was dishevelled. His eyes were glistening. He greeted Bharati, and joined in the stroll. Bharati, introducing Vijaya to him, said “Meet my college-mate.” Viswanath said with a laugh, “There is no need for introductions in this small place. As soon as anyone arrives, everyone gets to know all about the person.”

Vijaya laughed, and asked, “And what small-town talk have you heard about me? Good things or bad?”

“I heard about you, but not from the townfolk.”

“How is that possible?” exclaimed Vijaya.

“Suresh wrote to me that you were here.”

“How do you know Suresh?”

“We are friends. We studied together.”

“What did he write?”

“That you were here.”

“If he knew I was, why didn’t he write to me?”

“He complained that you hadn’t informed him.”

“I see. It is his wounded pride! Never mind. The fault is mine, I own up the defeat, and I shall write to him now.”

Bharati listened to the light-hearted banter of Vijaya, like one who belonged to another world. Vijaya and she were class-mates. So were Suresh and Viswanath. But she belonged to the world of Krishnappa, not of Viswanath. Her next thought brought shame to her...

Vijaya did not suffer the defeat she owned up. When they reached the house, they found Suresh in Krishnappa’s company. Suresh could not keep away from Vijaya!

“Here is a friend of Viswanath,” said Krishnappa to Bharati.

“He happens to be also our friend,” said Vijaya, smiling at Suresh.

Krishnappa looked non-plussed, and Suresh said,

“Excuse me. I ought to have told you also that Vijaya and I are soon to get married.”

“Indeed?…And so we have the pleasure of offering hospitality to an engaged couple! How do you like that, Bharati?”

Vijaya said, “There are still two months to go. That is, if meanwhile we don’t quarrel and part!”

Bharati was standing by the side of Krishnappa. She addressed Suresh. “We met Viswanath just now. He told us that you had written to him about Vijaya. And she was worried why you had not written to her, knowing she was here. However, here you are in person. That should satisfy Vijaya!” “Does it?” asked Suresh and looked at Vijaya, and laughed. And Vijaya laughed too. They looked at each other happily. That intimacy in their looks was something which could not be purchased with all the wealth of the world. Two persons might live together all their lives. They might enjoy and suffer together. But unless their hearts were fused into one, this happiness could not be theirs.

After a while Bharati went into the kitchen. They had a cook now, and he had to be told that there was another guest. Krishnappa took up a newspaper and became absorbed in it. Bharati could hear Vijaya and Suresh talking in the next room.

“I do not know what your friend thinks of me and of my jumping in here so abruptly!”

“She only knows you for what you are, a madcap!”

“Indeed! I was mad, Vijaya. There was no letter from you for four days. I went to Mysore. You were not there. Your friends, the Atchayyas, told me you were here. I wrote to Viswanath. I had a little work. I finished it. And I am here.”

“You did well. I promise to start tomorrow. We can return together. I’ll leave you in your dispensary, meet the Atchayyas, and go to Mysore.”

“Why don’t you ask your father, Vijaya? Should we delay the wedding by two months? My practice at Bangalore is getting upset. Why can’t it be sooner?’

“I like to watch more of your wild pranks before you steady down as a husband!”

When they sat down to dinner, Vijaya mentioned about their proposal to leave the next day.

“He has just arrived, and has hardly had time to look round the place. Why return so soon? Moreover, his friend is here,” said Bharati:

“Which friend? Oh, Viswanath! I can see him in the morning, and travel by the afternoon bus,” said Suresh.

“Why such hurry? Why not stay here for a few days?” urged, Krishnappa.

“Sorry, please...I am not a Government servant to go on leave and then extend it. I must drudge every day for a living,” said Suresh.

“And how!” exclaimed Vijaya. “Look at him, a mere bag of bones!”

Krishnappa laughed. “What do you know of the pleasures of Government service?”….he asked Suresh.

After dinner all the four took out their chairs to sit in the moonlight. Bharati had no idea how pleasantly Krishnappa could carry on a conversation. Suresh was feeling thoroughly at home and talking like an old, friend. Vijaya felt free, and spoke of her desires and ambitions, as one would before intimate relations. Krishnappa, like a benign and elderly relation, was encouraging them to talk without any reserve. Bharati was a silent listener. They did not notice the passing of time. As the clock was striking ten Viswanath dropped in, saw his friend and said, “What, Suresh! You came down without giving notice.”

Bharati asked the servant to bring another chair for Viswanath, and added, “How could he help coming...when the magnet was here?”

Krishnappa asked Viswanath if he had dined.

“I just finished my dinner, uncle,” replied Viswanath, and, drawing up the chair brought by the servant, settled himself in it.

Vijaya asked Viswanath how he knew about the arrival of Suresh. “Did I not tell you that we have an invisible news agency here?”

They kept on talking about various things and when they dispersed it was past midnight.

After Vijaya and Suresh left, Bharati found it difficult to spend her time. With the cook there she had no work in the kitchen. Bharati soon assured herself that the cook assessed the culinary likes and dislikes of Krishnappa better than she did. A visit to the club or a stroll along the canal bank constituted her evening routine. After the visit of Vijaya, it looked as if there was a change in Krishnappa’s behaviour. He seemed to have realised that there was no use in attempting to please Bharati. Formerly, he used to show special solicitude for her comforts. But now he seemed to have grown indifferent. One day followed another in drab monotony. One evening Viswanath came home with Krishnappa.

“Bharati, may Viswanath take his meal with us?”

“Yes–Why ask about it?”–queried Bharati.

“No, uncle. My food is cooked and ready,” said Viswanath.

“It can’t go waste. Give it to a beggar. Is it not boring to eat all alone?–You were with me when your aunt Bhagirathi was alive. Bhati is also bored...This old fellow is no good as constant company to her. You could come down and remain with us till you married and set up a home,” said Krishnappa.

Bharati was interested. She watched the face of Viswanath eagerly. Viswanath did not accept the suggestion. “It will be all a bother.”

“It is just as well if I live separately. Once in three days, anyhow, I am dining with you.”

Bharati said: “Where is the bother? There is the cook, and he prepares our food. One more won’t matter.” Viswanath would not agree.

“I am thinking of applying for a month’s leave and going to Mysore,” put in Krishnappa.

“Why?” asked Bharati.

“I am bored too. You are bored, of course. It will be a pleasant change wandering about as we please.”

“It is a good idea. But when you both get away, what about the lonely cook and me?” asked Viswanath laughing.

Bharati stared into his face. Did he mean more than what he said? He had been coming to them very frequently of late. Would he really feel lonely if she went away?…She could not find an answer on his face.

In the end Krishnappa could not avail himself of leave. A machine had gone wrong. He had to stick to his post. Bharati had been looking forward to a visit to Mysore and was counting the days. This last-minute obstacle was a sore disappointment to her. Though she did not express it, Krishnappa sensed it.

“You had better go to Mysore alone for some days, Bharati.”

“Where could I stay?”

“Why, with your father, of course!”

“ I won’t step into his house.”

Eight days later, Bharati told Krishnappa, “I want to leave for Mysore tomorrow.”

“But didn’t you say you wouldn’t go? What happened suddenly?” asked Krishnappa, surprised.

“It is just that I want to go. I may stay with friends. I may choose to stay with my rattler even.”

“For how many days?”

“I can’t say.”

Krishnappa agreed. He arranged a seat for her in the bus. She left the next morning. Krishnappa gave her a hundred rupees and said, “If you require more, please write to me”. He wandered about, and then went home. The house looked a dungeon. He was distressed that she should have left him alone. But he also realised that it was cruel to expect a mere child to sacrifice her life to make him a comfortable home. It was laying a heavy burden on her. Krishnappa thought of his folly and smiled to himself bitterly.

If Bhagirathi had been alive!...Bhagirathi would have grown old along with him. They could have shared the memories of their youthful days. For him, at his age, to have sought a place in Bharati’s life was sheer madness.

Madness. Nothing else.

Two days passed by after Bharati had left. There was still no letter from her. Krishnappa felt apprehensive. But he decided to wait for two more days. She might be still on the move. She might not have found time to write. She was sure to write. Krishnappa soothed himself with such thoughts. He returned from his night-shift–and went to bed. Though tired, he could not sleep. Anxious thoughts about Bharati troubled him–and with them the memories of Bhagirathi. He remembered the days gone by. He had done his best to instal Bharati in the void left by his first wife. He had failed. It had become an insoluble puzzle. He even thought that Bharati could be liberated only by his death. But what kind of a liberation could that be? What status or respectability or freedom had a widow in Hindu society? She might earn and manage to be alive. But the freedoms of life were not hers...Was the wrong he had done her unpardonable? No. There were instances of second marriages turning out to be happy unions. He had not stinted her anything. The fates had decreed that neither of them should be happy…. That was all!

Krishnappa got up, and opened a box which contained many letters. He looked at the photograph of Bhagirathi which was wrapped in a piece of paper. He laid it on the table. He had hidden it away as soon as he married Bharati so as not to cause her any pain. He ought to get it framed and keep it on his table. “Was not Bhagirathi good-looking?”–Bharati had asked him one day. Surely Bhagirathi was a lovely woman: and the photograph did her justice. The dimples on her milk-white cheeks were fascinating, particularly when she smiled. Memories rushed and troubled him one after another. Bhagirathi, the smiling girl; Bhagirathi, the bashful bride; Bhagirathi, the frightened wife of the early months of their marriage; Bhagirathi, begging of him in his younger years not to lose his temper with her; Bhagirathi, the self-confident creature of later years; Bhagirathi, who welcomed him smiling when he returned from his work; Bhagirathi whose only grievance against life was that she had no children: these pictures passed before his mind’s eye in quick succession. The room was filled with her presence in variety of mood and grace. Her love for him was unmixed with pity. There was no inhibition, no mental reservation in their relationship. Neither of them feared that the other was secretly judging him or her. They spoke what they thought, and thought what they spoke. Krishnappa gazed intently at Bhagirathi’s photograph. Soon after they married, Bharati also had posed for a photograph. He wanted to place the two photographs side by side and look at them. The other photograph was in Bharati’s box. Krishnappa went and opened it. The perfume of the sarees pervaded the room. Krishnappa took out the saree on the top, and pressed it to his lips. An envelope fell out of its folds. He took out the letter, and read its contents eagerly. As he went on reading it, Krishnappa’s face became stern; It was a letter from the Headmistress of a Mission School in Mysore. It contained an offer of an appointment in the school to Bharati. It asked her to join by the first of the succeeding month. This was the third day of that month. Bharati had gone in time to Mysore. She had left on the first of the month...

...Krishnappa put the letter and closed the box.

The picture of Bhagirathi appeared to him to mock him, saying, “Why had you to seek another?”

It was a month since Bharati had left. There were no letters from her. Nor did Krishnappa write to her, either to her school or to her father’s place. Days and weeks passed by in wearisome monotony. Krishnappa was sitting in his house one evening, reading the newspaper. Viswanath came in and asked, “Are you not going to the club, uncle?”

“I don’t feel like it.”

Viswanath drew a chair and sat down. “You wanted to take leave some time ago–but there was some trouble then, and you couldn’t. Why don’t you avail yourself of leave for a few days, and go to Mysore for a change?”

“I am not interested.”

“Is it not more than a month since Bharati left? When is she returning?”

Krishnappa got up, brought the letter from the Headmistress of the Mission School in Mysore, and placed it in Viswanath’s hands. Viswanath read the letter. He remained silent.

Krishnappa then said, “I don’t think she is coming . She has not written at all.”

“After a month or two of the job, she will get tired of it and come .”

“If she had insisted on going, if she had merely said she wanted to go, I would not have prevented her. She told me nothing about the job. Nor has she written to me all these days.”

“Perhaps she did not like to hurt you by telling you what she was doing.”

Krishnappa was writhing with dumb pain. Viswanath was greatly affected by it. Who was to blame? Was Krishnappa, the old husband, to blame in trying to grab at the life of a young woman? Or was Bharati, the young wife, to blame in not putting by her own inclinations? Viswanath was not able to judge between the two. He changed the topic, talked of one thing and another, and said only as he rose to go: “I am going to Mysore tomorrow. Would you like me to meet her and tell her what I think?”

Krishnappa shook his head. “No, this cannot be set right by a third person. Things must take their course.”

Viswanath asked the school servant about Bharati’s lodging. The next day was a Sunday, and she would be there. So he went to her lodge. She was living in a shabby lane behind the Parakala Mutt. She who had lived in her husband’s spacious bungalow to live in such a hole! Viswanath pitied her. Bharati herself opened the door, and was surprised to see Viswanath.

“It’s you!….Please come in.”

Viswanath entered and sat on a chair. Bharati went in, brought a cup of coffee, and placed it before Viswanath.

“Who told you I was here in Mysore?”

“Uncle himself told me. He discovered the Headmistress’s letter, and he knew. You don’t seem to have written to him at all.”

“What could I write? I tried to. I couldn’t.”

“If you were bent on leaving him, uncle himself would have said ‘Yes’ That is what he told me.”

Bharati was silent. She was thinking that she erred in not being frank with her husband. She should have told him. She should have walked out bravely.

She said, “If I told you how it happened, you would not understand. It became impossible for me to live there...And then I had not the courage totell him the truth or to hurt him before I left him.”

Viswanath’s face became livid with pain.

“Uncle told me that a third party could do nothing to save the situation. That is absolutely true. He has a soft, kind heart. It is not in him to cause you pain. Why don’t you make another attempt? If you want occupation, you could seek a job there, living with him.”

Bharati’s gaze was far away. In the end, she smiled through her grief and said, “This is also an experiment. Not the final solution. I am trying to find out if one can get peace of mind by being in a job.”

Viswanath said, “It means I have come to you in vain,” and he got up to go.

Bharati said, “I dare not say so. When are you returning to Sivasamudram?”
“I am on three days leave.”

“Can you come again tonight? I’ll cook and keep something for you to eat.”

“Is there any point in our meeting again?”

“I think there is. Do come again.”

“In that case, do not trouble yourself about cooking. I am in the Modern Hotel. If you can go there with me at seven this evening, we shall dine there. I’ll come here and take you with me.” Bharati agreed.

Bharati was ready by the time Viswanath called on her. She was wearing the saree given to her by Krishnappa on her birthday. She looked as beautiful today as she looked wearing it on her birthday. Viswanath could not help being struck by her beauty and her charm. Was he not being tempted? Was he not playing with fire? She was setting no deliberate trap, he knew. But here was a beautiful girl, tired of her husband. There was Krishnappa, getting on to old age. What right had he to intervene? He had the credentials neither of age nor of experience for the delicate task of arbitrating between them. Should he not excuse himself and depart?….The next moment, the face of Krishnappa, writhing in pain, came before his mind.

“Shall we be going?” asked Viswanath, and led her out. They sat down for their dinner in the verandah of the hotel. People passing by kept staring at her.

Viswanath asked, “Please excuse my asking you again and again. May I tell uncle that you are coming ?”

“No. Please don’t tell him anything. Not just yet. Let my experiment be over...Forget for the moment my own frustrated life. I have been curious to know more about yours. Won’t you tell me something about yourself?”

Viswanath laughed. “About myself?...There is little to say. I am an orphaned boy. I lost both my parents. It was uncle who helped me to get educated. He did everything for me. He is all I have in the world.”

“How areyou related to him?”

“If you must know, I am not really related to him. I am a distant relation of Bhagirathi, his first wife.”

“Tell me something about Bhagirathi.”

“I was still at college when she died. I used to stay with them during the holidays. She was a very kind and affectionate person: very understanding too. You reminded me of her many times.”

“She was very good-looking, wasn’t she?”

“How can one judge? Does a son dwell on the good looks of his mother? To him she means infinitely more than her looks...She was a mother, and more than mother, to me. Everyone considered her a handsome person. Her will was law to uncle. From his work every
day he would go straight home to her. He was not used to go to a club when she was alive.”

Bharati listened with emotion.

“Mother!” “Son!”

Was that a hint to her? Had she done or said anything to provoke such a hint from him? After meeting Suresh, and after watching Suresh and Vijaya, something was kindled in her which made Viswanath look different to her. But, surely, there was no occasion for so plain a hint from him!...And what was the hint? Bhagirathi was much older than Viswanath. Bhagirathi could have been his mother. How could she, Bharati, so many years younger than he, replace the mother-image for him? If he were to marry he would choose some one nearly her age. She asked him, “Why are you not married? You have a job, and you can maintain a home with a wife!”

Viswanath answered, “Where’s the hurry? It will happen in its own time.”

There was very little personal conversation after that. They talked many things but not about themselves. They finished their meal, and Viswanath escorted her to her residence.

Viswanath did not tell Krishnappa about his having met Bharati. He spent all his leisure time in Krishnappa’s company. Krishnappa did not ask him if he had met Bharati.

When Viswanath came in as usual one evening, Krishnappa did not receive him with his wonted warmth. Viswanath was at a loss to understand his uncle’s changed attitude. He only sensed that something had gone wrong. He sat patiently for a time. In the end he got up to leave. It was clear that Krishnappa wanted to say something, but was hesitating to speak out. It was not till Viswanath reached the door that Krishnappa gathered courage to say: “You seem to have met Bharati in Mysore.”

Viswanath now understood what was troubling Krishnappa’s mind. He turned .

“Yes, I met her. Who told you about it?”

“My friend Sreenivasa Rao saw you with her.”

“Where?”

“When you were both dining in a corner of the Modern Hotel.…I was told you were sitting close to each other, indulging in intimate conversation...And she perhaps went up to your room with you!” The poor man was beside himself with jealousy. Viswanath pulled himself up. He said, “Uncle, have I ever given you reason to doubt my conduct? You are nursing idle suspicions, and needlessly worrying yourself. Yes, I met Bharati, and spoke to her. I told her that it was good for her, and not for you alone, that she should come to you. She did not immediately agree. But she did not rule out my advice. She said she was experimenting if she could live her own life without you. I did not like to cause you pain by telling you all this…Do not listen togossip and embitter your mind. You were always like a father to me. And aunt Bhagirathi was the only mother I knew. Bharati is like aunt Bhagirathi to me.”

Krishnappa bent his head in shame. He held Viswanath’s right hand in both his hands.

“Forgive me,” he said, and looked at Viswanath with moist eyes.

Krishnappa was on his way one morning after a night-shift. Many thoughts were fluttering in his brain. Bharati had refused to come . She was working for her livelihood. She liked it better than sharing her life with him. The more civilised a man is, the more difficult are his problems. Barbarous people find quick and satisfying solutions. They sometimes even kill others or kill themselves in order to bring a problem to an end. Civilisation complicates matters. It lends itself to pretence, and it leads to inner conflicts. There is less of real happiness in civilised society. If Bharati had been an unsophisticated village girl, she could have been driven by society to seek happiness with him as his wife. And he could have been happy too. Now she was not very happy even where she was. It was obvious that she was not!...How could she be? Poor girl!...

He reached home. He climbed the steps. The front door was open. He pushed it. And he saw what he could hardly believe. He rubbed his sleepy eyes, and saw again. There was Bharati sitting on a chair hands resting on a table, her gaze fixed on the smiling face of Bhagirathi in the photograph which he had left framed on the table. She rose to greet him when she heard the noise of the door. She tried to speak to him but the words died in her throat. There was sorrow on her face, and surrender in her eyes. But it was he who felt defeated. He caught her in his arms, brushed her hair with his lips, and whispered, “Bharati, it is good of you to come home, but I know I do not deserve you…..I should not have married you and caused you all this pain.”

She heard him, and hid her face in his bosom, and wept.

She then raised her tear-stained eyes to him, and said, “Please do not say that again. I was more at fault...all the time. But now on I’ll be different.”