Malgudi Days Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ramanujam’s wife was away in the village. A card arrived for Ramanujam. Thanappa, as was his custom, glanced through it at the sorting table itself; and, the moment they were ready to start out, went straight to Vinayak Mudali Street, though in the ordinary course over 150 addresses preceded it. He went straight to Ramanujam’s house, knocked on the door and shouted, ‘Postman, sir, postman.’ When Ramanujam opened it, he said, ‘Give me a handful of sugar before I give you this card. Happy father! After all these years of prayers! Don’t complain that it is a daughter. Daughters are God’s gift, you know . . . Kamakshi—lovely name!’
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    â€˜Kamakshi,’ he addressed the tall, bashful girl, years later, ‘get your photo ready. Ah so shy! Here is your grandfather’s card asking for your photo. Why should he want it, unless it be . . .’
    â€˜The old gentleman writes rather frequently now, doesn’t he, sir?’ he asked Ramanujam, as he handed him his letter and waited for him to open the envelope and go through its contents. Ramanujam looked worried after reading it. The postman asked, ‘I hope it’s good news?’ He leaned against the veranda pillar, with a stack of undelivered letters still under his arm. Ramanujam said, ‘My father-in-law thinks I am not sufficiently active in finding a husband for my daughter. He has tried one or two places and failed. He thinks I am very indifferent . . .’ ‘Elderly people have their own anxiety,’ the postman replied. ‘The trouble is,’ said Ramanujam, ‘that he has set apart five thousand rupees for this girl’s marriage and is worrying me to find a husband for her immediately. But money is not everything . . .’ ‘No, no,’ echoed the postman; ‘unless the destined hour is at hand, nothing can help . . .’
    Day after day for months Thanappa delivered the letters and waited to be told the news. ‘Same old news, Thanappa . . . Horoscopes do not agree . . . They are demanding too much . . . Evidently they do not approve of her appearance.’ ‘Appearance! She looks like a queen. Unless one is totally blind . . .’ the postman retorted angrily. The season would be closing, with only three more auspicious dates, the last being May 20. The girl would be seventeen in a few days. The reminders from her grand-father were becoming fiercer. Ramanujam had exhausted all the possibilities and had drawn a blank everywhere. He looked helpless and miserable. ‘Postman,’ he said, ‘I don’t think there is a son-in-law for me anywhere . . .’
    â€˜Oh, don’t utter inauspicious words, sir,’ the postman said. ‘When God wills it . . .’ He reflected for a while and said, ‘There is a boy in Delhi earning two hundred rupees. Makunda of Temple Street was after him. Makunda and you are of the same subcaste, I believe . . .’
    â€˜Yes . . .’
    â€˜They have been negotiating for months now. Over a hundred letters have passed between them already . . . But I know they are definitely breaking off . . . It is over some money question . . . They have written their last message on a postcard and it has infuriated these people all the more. As if postcards were an instrument of insult! I have known most important communications being written even on picture postcards; when Rajappa went to America two years ago he used to write to his sons every week on picture postcards . . .’ After this digression he came back to the point. ‘I will ask Makunda to give me the horoscope. Let us see . . .’ Next day he brought the horoscope with him. ‘The boy’s parents are also in Delhi, so you can write to them immediately. No time to waste now.’
    A ray of hope touched Ramanujam’s family.
    â€˜I have still a hundred letters to deliver, but I came here first because I saw this Delhi postmark. Open it