Free The Guru of Love by Samrat Upadhyay

kind.”
    â€œI don’t think she is that kind.”
    â€œWell, don’t worry about her too much. Do what you can.”
    Â 
    Malati arrived for her tutoring session a short while after the children had left for school. She was wearing the same worn-out red kurta suruwal she’d worn the first time she came, but today she looked troubled.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Ramchandra asked as she sat down. “Is everything all right?”
    She nodded and opened her textbook.
    It was obvious that her mind was not on the math problems, because she chewed on her pencil and wrote slowly. When he explained the formula for compound interest, she didn’t even nod with understanding; she merely kept her head lowered. After a while, Ramchandra gave her some problems to solve and left the room, saying he’d be back in a while. He went to the kitchen and drank some water. Goma had gone to the market to buy vegetables. Suddenly Ramchandra felt an urge for more tea, so he set the water to boil and looked out the window as he waited. Mr. Sharma was seated by his window, chanting, and his voice rang out clearly into the courtyard. Only after Ramchandra had poured milk and sugar into the boiling water did he realize that he should have made a glass for Malati, too. But, not wanting to wait for more water to boil, he poured himself the tea and was about to head back to the room when he saw Malati in the doorway.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he asked.
    â€œSir, I need to be excused today. I can’t do the problems.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know. I can’t concentrate.”
    â€œHere, I made some tea for you. Maybe this will help.”
    She gave him a wan smile. “I’ve already had my tea.”
    Nonetheless, he handed her the glass, which she took reluctantly. “Who’s singing?”
    He motioned her over to the window and pointed toward Mr. Sharma. Since the kitchen window was small, they had to stand close together to watch, and her shoulder touched his.
    â€œWhat is he chanting?”
    Ramchandra shrugged, his breath caught in his throat. He saw that her eyes had a faraway look, and creases marked her forehead. He put his arm around her and drew her close. “What’s bothering you?”
    She stiffened, only momentarily, and placed her head on his shoulder. “Nothing is bothering me,” she said in a small voice.
    They stood like that for a while. He could smell the baby on her. He looked down at her face again, resting on his shoulder. The glass of tea was still in her hand, and her eyes were closed. He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead. He took the glass from her hand, placed it on the windowsill, and raised her face. Her eyes were still closed, but the creases on her forehead were gone. He kissed her lightly on the lips, and said, “Come, let’s solve those problems.” She shook her head and said she couldn’t. “Look at me,” he said. She opened her eyes. “You have to make yourself strong,” he told her.
    â€œI’m tired,” she said.
    â€œI’m tired, too. But I go on.”
    â€œYou have people who love you.”
    â€œYou have a daughter.”
    She looked toward the window again. “His voice is good,” she said.
    â€œYes, he sings like this every morning.”
    â€œI have to go.” She slipped out of his embrace and, as he followed her, walked to the bedroom. There, she picked up her books, smoothed her hair with her hand, and said, “I promise I will put my mind to it next time.”
    â€œEverything will be all right. You will pass the S.L.C.”
    He watched her go down the stairs and then went to the kitchen window so that he could see her leave the courtyard. Mr. Sharma briefly stopped his chanting to observe her.
    Goma came home about fifteen minutes later and, noticing that Malati was gone, asked him what had happened. “She had a