In the evenings, while the seniors drank rum and played cards, Rajesh sat beside them snatching a drink or two himself and sometimes even having a few hands at the game. He enjoyed this new found freedom, away from the glaring eyes of his father and mingling with senior officers gave him a sense of fulfillment. But now there was only one thing lacking in his life-a pretty wife. Slowly the thought was hitting him harder, especially when he saw that every evening while all the other officers had their wives to go back to, he was left with no choice but to go back to a lonely, dingy room. He wanted a change desperately, and lately spent his nights figuring out ways to bring this up with his father.

However, proposals for him had already been pouring in from various sectors in Kathmandu, but as the father of the groom, Ram himself wasn't satisfied with any of them. Sometimes the girls were not pretty enough while at other times no agreement could be reached on the dowry issue. He was quick to point out that he wasn't after money but for his own daughters' marriage, he had to sell the small patch of ancestral land that he had in the village. Now it was only fair he got a portion of the fortune back.

After rejecting scores of proposals, finally hope had come through a colleague at the office. The family in question was the colleague's neighbour. They were looking for a suitable boy for their daughter who had passed matriculation examinations with second-class honours. The colleague, Kiran ji, was carefully handpicked by the girl's father to act as the middleman and Kiran ji flourished in the honour. Twitching his long handle bar moustache and adjusting his traditional cap every now and then, he painted his masterpiece, expertly blending his stroke with fluidity and caution.

"She is not only beautiful but an expert cook as well. She sprinkles her food with a pinch of spice and a dash of love. No wonder. I keep smelling my hands hours after eating and what's more, she is 10th passed. I'm telling you, don't let this chance slip away. They are willing to give twenty thousand rupees in cash along with a bed and a cupboard."

He then dug his hand into his back pocket and took out a passport size photo of the girl. When Ram looked at her, he was at once engrossed. He felt the young cherubic girl smiling at him was someone he had known for a long time. Perhaps a beautiful daughter he had never had, since his own daughters had not been blessed with any striking quality. After some thought, Ram consented to meet the party at their house, on the following weekend.
That night he told Maya Devi about the proposal over dinner. She crouched in her space, listening to every word without giving any response. Ram slurped to his satisfaction, pushing balls of rice into his mouth, licking daal that trickled like teardrops down his wrist. After he finished, he belched, abruptly got up to wash his hands and left the kitchen. He sat on his cane chair kept on the small patio, and lit his yak cigarette.

"Sharmas from Baneshwor.Wonder if they're related to the Sharmas from Chahbail. Anyway, if they're giving a bed and a cupboard with twenty thousand rupees, it's not such a bad deal," he murmured under his breath and gave a long sigh, as his eyes fell on the small patch of unkempt garden growing wildly outside the patio. He flicked the cigarette butt into the garden and went in.

All week, Ram thought about the forthcoming meeting, and was suddenly overtaken by a new gust of energy. Whatever he did, he had the event at the back of his mind. At the office, he sat on his desk with the ledger open in front of him, peering over at Kiran ji's table, eager to strike up another conversation about the Sharmas. Kiran ji, himself tremendously excited with his role, sneaked to his table at every given opportunity, carrying a brown file to give the impression that it was official, and sat beside him to divulge yet another piece of information on
the Sharmas.

At tiffin time both of them went down to the tea stall and discussed the background of the Sharmas at length. Their roots, branches, sub branches. Inevitably somebody or the other would have been an acquaintance of Ram. After their tea and fried peas were consumed, Ram paid for both, and they walked back to the office; Ram in a pensive mood, stroking his chin with his fingers and Kiran ji wiping his greasy fingers on his long moustache, a perpetual grin pasted on his face.

The day finally arrived. Ram got up earlier than usual, and as he did every morning, went to say his prayers in the puja room. Bare-chested, clad only in a white dhoti with the sacred thread hanging loose on his shoulder, he briskly made his way around as if he had ten other things on his mind. For Ram, the half an hour spent there was the most peaceful moment of his day and he rounded up his ritual by rotating the incense stick with his right hand and tinkling the bell with his left hand.

Immediately after the prayers were over, he hurried to Rajesh's room and banged on his door.

"Rajesh, eh Rajesh, get up fast and wash yourself. Your mother is waiting for you in the puja room. These young men today." he muttered and went about like a man on a mission with no time to waste. But Rajesh was up already, lying on his bed, staring vacantly at a crack in the ceiling. He had been waiting for this day and could not contain his excitement when his father had asked him to come to Kathmandu. The deal had been struck without him having to bring it up, which had made him so happy that he had celebrated the occasion by swigging half a bottle of rum all by himself and making his seniors dance with him to folk music. And now when the moment arrived, he felt at peace with his burning desires. He had seen the girl's picture and had coyly nodded his appreciation to his sisters. He felt lucky that such a beautiful girl would ever come his way and already in his mind, started fantasising about their first night together. Now he was doing the same when he was roused by the loud thuds on his door.

By ten, the Kumar family was ready. Ram was dressed in a gray tunic with traditional close-fitting trousers and a flower-patterned cap resting proudly on his head. Maya Devi, was adorned in a red sari and jewelry, which she had worn only during her daughters' marriage. But even the lavish dress failed to bring any light to her face. Rajesh wore a neat white shirt and a pair of red trousers crisply ironed and properly creased. The dress was a perfect match for the blush on his face. When the daughters arrived, carrying their babies like bundles of clothes, they all headed off, squeezed in two taxis to the house of the Sharmas.

The Sharmas greeted them at the door. The father of the bride, an officer in the Ministry of Health was a cunning Brahmin with an aquiline nose and sly eyes. He received them with the traditional namaste and a wide grin, flashing an uneven row of tobacco stained teeth. His wife who had appeared from behind had a striking resemblance to Maya Devi.

(To be completed in #125)