Read Online Difficult Daughters by Manju Kapur - Free Book Online Page B

revolted and her sufferings increased.
    The question of the fiancé loomed large.
    *
     
    ‘Tell him, tell him.’ The Professor became exigent. ‘The thought of him in your life is like poison to me.’ By now, Virmati had finished her BA and her wedding date was fixed.
    ‘How can I tell him? I hardly meet him. And never alone.’
    ‘Look at me,’ urged the Professor, stroking the hair of her bent head. ‘It won’t matter to him. As you say, he hardly knows you. How can convenience be allowed to come between us? Say you have changed your mind,’ he persisted.
    Changed her mind? In what world was he living? ‘They will think I have gone mad. They have been patient enough with me as it is. And then there is Indu,’ she tried to explain.
    At this, his face puckered with distress. The grip on her hand tightened, and his fingers, trembling with passion, travelled persuasively up and down her soft arm. Virmati’s whole body tightened with tension.
    ‘Don’t.’

    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Someone will see. She may come in.’
    ‘No one will see. She’s gone out.’
    ‘Still, I don’t like it. There are others. They will tell her – them.’
    The Professor gently placed his fingers around the thin column of Virmati’s neck. ‘Don’t worry about her‚’ he pleaded.
    ‘Why not? She is your wife, isn’t she?’
    The Professor looked crushed and Virmati thought again how it was not his fault, how could he help it if he had been married off at the age of three? Her arms closed around him, and she cushioned his head against her young shoulder.
    Later, on her stealthy way home, she felt as usual tainted by her moments with the Professor. The thought of her wedding was always at the back of her mind, splitting her into two socially unacceptable pieces.
    As Virmati entered her house, she heard Indumati’s voice, ‘Pehnji! Here’s a letter for you.’ The coyness and interest left Virmati no doubt as to whom it was from. Irritated, she grabbed the letter from her sister’s hand. She would read it later, after her milk, in the privacy of the second terrace on top of the house.
    Respected Virmatiji,
I have been very busy these past two months, so I have not been able to write to you. The bridge project is to be finished soon. Mr White says the work is going very well. He comes once a week to check the position. He spends the night in an ordinary tent and puts up with all the inconveniences. When I apologize, he says that although he holds me responsible for everything that goes on in the project, he will make an exception of the weather and the insects. I smile when he says this. You have to understand the way the British say things.
I will be able to come to Amritsar for a few days on the second of the month in connection with preparations for our marriage. I will call on you and pay my respects to Mataji and Pitaji, and Bade Baoji. I hope I will be able to meet Kailashnath also.
Respectfully yours,
Inderjit
     
    Virmati read this brief letter several times. She searched the words, but could find no sense that she was important to him, no impatience to be united with her. But maybe, thought Virmati indecisively, these things came after marriage?
    In her pocket was another letter, part of a correspondence the Professor had insisted on maintaining, although she hadn’t seen the need.
    ‘But why? You are right here. We see each other almost every day.’
    ‘Until I am with you every moment of the day I cannot be satisfied. Every thought and feeling I have, I want to share with you.’
    Now, feeling wretched, Virmati unfolded the Professor’s latest offering.
    Dearest love,
How difficult it is to teach while you are sitting before me! Your face is the fixed point to which my eyes keep returning. Let the world – the class – notice and remark, I do not care. You are imprinted on my mind, my heart, my soul so firmly that until we can be united in a more permanent way I live in a shadowy insubstantial land.
So darling,