Free The Guru of Love by Samrat Upadhyay Page B

celebration was going, raised his hand and said, “It doesn’t matter. Sasura-ji is right—it is an outdated custom. Why should anyone wash my feet?”
    That evening, throughout the ride in a hired taxi from Pandey Palace to his flat with his new bride, Ramchandra sat stiffly, thinking that the daughter probably shared her parents’ attitude, and that he was now condemned to a lifetime of this.
    After Ramchandra’s mother received her new daughter-in-law, raised her bridal veil to see her face, and made the customary remarks about how beautiful she was and how she’d make a perfect daughter-in-law, Ramchandra had gone outside, saying he needed some fresh air, even though others tried to prevent him from leaving on his wedding night.
    He’d walked the streets, tired from all the activity of the past few days, his mind numb with anxiety about what would happen later, once the wedding party left and he and his new wife were together, alone.
    He returned to his flat about half an hour later, talked to some of his friends, and, after they left, entered the bedroom, where Goma sat on the bed, inspecting her fingers. She glanced up at him and quickly turned away. The gesture could have been charming, this quick turn of her head, which made her right earring glint under the light, but Ramchandra saw it as her rejection of him. He stood in the doorway and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw that she looked puzzled, as if she were saying, What’s keeping you? Mustering up his courage, he took a step forward, but his eyes fell on a basket of fruit on the table. He went over to it and picked up a banana, which he brought over to her. “I don’t know what time they fed you,” he said, “but you must be hungry.” She nodded but didn’t take the banana from his hand. “Here,” he said, “I’ll peel it for you,” and he did. “Here,” and he held the naked banana close to her chin. Still, no response.
    He felt awkward and sad. The daughter of rich parents, she’s already unhappy with my poverty. But they’d known of his financial state and still had chosen him as her groom. He tried to find another reason. Could it be that she didn’t like the way he looked? He wasn’t a particularly good-looking man, but, with the broad forehead and pointed nose, his face was pleasant enough, he thought. He wondered whether she’d seen a picture of him before the marriage was arranged. He was about to put the banana on the table when he saw her shoulders heave. “What’s the matter?” he asked. She covered her face with her hands, trying to suppress her laughter. “What did I say?” he said, smiling. “Why are you laughing?” And then he saw himself, holding a naked banana, on his wedding night, and trying to shove it down his wife’s throat. He finally put it down and, placing his hand on her shoulder, turned her toward him and tried to pull her fingers from her face. They engaged in a little struggle. “You are a joker,” she mumbled softly. Soon, he was on top of her, his chest pressing against her bosom. Laughing, he picked up the banana, pried open her fingers, and pushed it into her mouth.

4
    T HE DAY AFTER he kissed Malati, Ramchandra got up before the sun rose. As he was heading out the door, Goma woke up and asked where he was going. “For a walk,” he said.
    â€œAt this hour?” She glanced at the clock. “It’s not even five yet.”
    â€œI’m feeling restless. I’ll be back within an hour.”
    The only people on the streets were farmers, carrying their baskets. Groups of dogs loitered on the corners, yawning or sniffing one another. Ramchandra moved toward New Road and crossed the Tundikhel field. The grass was covered with frost, and by the time he left the field on the other side, his shoes were wet.
    At the incline of Dillibazaar, a faint glow lit the