Free Mr Sampath-The Printer of Malgudi, the Financial Expert, Waiting for the Mahatma by R. K. Narayan Page B

choose where he would rather face the calumny.’
    He had completed the sentence when the printer came in again, blowing out the remark: ‘I say, Srinivas, you are trying them too much, I fear, keeping them waiting!’ Srinivas put away his pen, explaining apologetically: ‘I had to note down something at once; otherwise I’m in danger of losing it for ever.’ Now a boy entered, bearing plates and cups on a tray. The printer said: ‘Take your seat, madam, have some coffee.’
    ‘No, no,’ she protested. ‘I’m not in need –’ She was shy and inarticulate in the presence of the printer. Ramu watched the scene with dislike and boredom. He kept throwing at the tray hungry side-glances, hoping that his mother’s refusal would not lead to the removal of the tray. Noticing it, the printer said: ‘Come on, young man,’ and handed him a plate; he then rose, saying to Srinivas: ‘Please persuade your wife to take something. She has had a tiring journey.’ He went down the steps. Srinivas held a plate to his wife. ‘Come on –’
    ‘Hotel food! I can’t,’ she said. She was brought up in a very orthodox manner in her little village. ‘And I can’t eat any food without a bathe first. It’d be unthinkable.’ The boy tried to say through his full mouth: ‘Mother has been fasting since yesterday wouldn’t take anything on the way.’
    ‘Why?’ asked Srinivas.
    ‘Should you ask?’ she replied.
    ‘What foolish nonsense is this?’ Srinivas cried. He stood looking at her for a moment as if she were an embodiment of knotty problems. He knew what it was: rigorous upbringing, fear of pollution of touch by another caste, orthodox idiocies – all the rigorous compartmenting of human beings. He looked at her with despair. ‘Look here, I don’t like all this. You eat that stuff. What does it matter who has prepared it, as long as it is clean and agreeable? It is from a Brahmin hotel. Even if it isn’t, you have got to eat it, provided it is clean and the sort of thing you eat. We have all been eating it, and I assure you we have neither felt poisoned in this life nor lost a claim for a place in heaven. You could share the same fate with us, I think.’ He pressed a plate into her hand and compelled her to accept it. The boy added: ‘It is quite good, Mother, eat it.’
    Having been used to the spacious courtyards and halls of their village home, his wife stood speechless when she beheld her home at the back of Anderson Lane. The very first question she asked was: ‘How can we live here?’
    ‘Oh, you will get used to it,’ Srinivas replied.
    ‘But what small rooms and partitions!’
    ‘Oh, yes, yes. He is a rapacious rascal, our landlord. You are welcome to tackle him whenever you like.’
    ‘But what a locality! Couldn’t you get – ?’
    ‘Yes, it is a horrible locality. But a lot of men, women, and children are living here; we are one of them.’
    Meanwhile they found Ramu missing. Looking about, Srinivas saw him engaged in a deep conversation with a boy of his own age, living in an adjoining block of rooms. They saw Ramu open his friend’s wooden box and dive into it and bring out something. ‘He seems to know already where everything is keptin that house,’ Srinivas said. ‘Ramu, come here,’ he called. His son came up with his friend behind him. ‘This is our house,’ Srinivas told him. Ramu seemed very pleased to hear it. ‘Do you like it?’ Ramu looked about, looked at his friend, and they both giggled. ‘What is your friend’s name?’
    Ramu said: ‘I don’t know. Can I go to the same school as he, Father?’
    ‘Certainly; yes, yes,’ Srinivas said.
    It seemed to have excited the entire community that Srinivas’s wife had arrived. Everybody seemed relieved to see Srinivas’s home-life return to a normal shape. They said: ‘Your husband was paying a rent here unnecessarily. Your part of the house was always locked up all day long. He doesn’t seem to have cared for anything