THE HAPPY BRIDEGROOM

By RANJEE G. SHAHANI

TO the south of Ranchore lines, not far from the main road, lie a number of habitations belonging to the Megwars, a tribe of artisans and manual labourers from Kutch. There are no streets, only narrow winding paths blocked by cows, donkeys, dogs and a few sickly hens. The cats here have a famished look, and seem as though perpetually afraid of something ; for, instead of walking or running, they are always slinking and snivelling their way. Everywhere there are streams of gutter water, and green puddles form near doorsteps. All around there are little mounds of filth and vegetable garbage. Over all this hovers a swarm of flies and insects. The stench is overpowering. Light never penetrates here ; everything is wrapt in a kind of oppressive gloom. The houses—if houses they can be called, are ancient mud-and-wood things, dirty, dismal, ill-shaped, so fragile that you think they might tumble down if you were to cough a little too loudly.

These dwellings are mostly twd-storey buildings, consisting of a room and a verandah. This last is so small and narrow that you wonder what earthly purpose it can serve. One man cannot stretch himself at ease here. He has to sit, if he needs must, in a prayerful attitude. Inside, there is no kind of arrangement for light and air. A single window, either too high up or too low down, opens out on to a stable or barn or coal-3 ard. Eternal twilight prevails here. The floor is all earth and mud. There is no furniture at all. A couple of tins that once contained kerosine oil from Burma now serve as wardrobes. I can see no bedstead or charpoy, but in a corner are a torn mat and a grimy tattered blanket. Here and there hang soiled clothes from huge rusty nails. A tin-pot on two stones is the kitchen ; and in the verandah, open to the gaze of all, is a lavatory without a flush.

Of course, there is no privacy here. This is the abode of nine to ten people. A number of humans like ourselves eat here, drink here, sleep here, and dream dreams here.

I go into the house of one of the most prosperous men in this alley. He is a tailor by profession, and an expert at his job. I am introduced to him, and greet him affably. After a little desultory conversation, I ask him : " Why don't you change your quarters, brother ? "

He giggles foolishly. " Can't afford it, Sir."

" Why, how much do you pay for your habitation ? "

In an impressive voice he replies : " Five rupees a month, Sir."

" What, five rupees for this—this . . . , " I meant to say hovel, but did not, not wishing to hurt the man's feelings. " It is difficult to get houses, Sir. After all, it is not so bad." " So you are content to dwell here ? "

" Can't complain, Sir. Times are hard, and it is difficult to make two ends meet. One must live somehow. It is a mercy that I am not starving."

" But wouldn't you like a better home ? "

The man hesitated, scratched his black beard and shaven jowl alternately, and smiled broadly. " No, Sir," he said in a decided voice.

" But why not, my good man ? "

" There are plenty of reasons," he said, after thinking a little. " To begin with, I am used to the spot, and to go away would be like parting from an old friend. People know me here and respect me ; the animals know me, too ; even the very alleys seem to respond to my footsteps. No, here I have lived, and here I should like to end my days. Then, I have my customers to think of. The moment I shift th will desert me : they will think that I am gone big. Pe( 7 people like poor places. Finally, I haven't got any mono to waste on rents. Five rupees is all I can afford . . ."

" But supposing you were to get a free house to live in The man shook his head. " No, I am all right here. Nev, things for new folks."

" Think of the grime, the stench, the gloom, the insects '' (I saw a cockroach run into a corner).

" That's all right," said the man. " God created them, just as he created you and me. Why should we be afraid of them ? Occasionally there are scorpions and snakes here, but they don't bother me. I believe they understand in some way that I mean them no harm. But when my day comes, I shall be ready to depart. Who can forestall God ? When He has spoken, who dare disobey ? You may dwell in a palace, but if you are to die of snake-bite, you will die thus, as surely as I was not born of a barren woman."

" But tell me, brother, don't you want better things ? "

" Don't you ? " he retorted. " Wouldn't you like to have two cars instead of one, four houses instead of two, a dozen servants instead of five ? Of course, everyone wishes for more than he has. That's why so many are unhappy. For myself, although I am poor, I am content with my lot. I've married two of my daughters, and will soon dispose of a third. The rest will be attended to in due course. My three boys are growing fast, and will soon take to some trade or another. I have nothing to grumble about. I am, thank God, able to save a little. How many can say that ? "

I looked at the man intently. He was tall, lean, with red watery eyes and a mouth like a cavern.

" You have heard of Gandhi?" I asked him.

" Yes, but I don't believe a word of what he says."

" Wherefore ? "

" Oh, he merely talks big. No doubt he wishes to impress the white Sahibs—that's what it surely is. He knows per- fectly well that we poor have neither the strength nor the will to upset the Sarkar : all we want is peace and protection. To tell us that everything we see is ours is simply not true. Such talk merely spoils our young folk and puts funny ideas into their heads. Some are born masters : others just servants. It is all a question of Karma. Gandhi can't change that. Having lived too much with Christians, I fear he has become a Christian himself. Otherwise he wouldn't talk such nonsense. When people say he is a Mahatma, I only laugh. He is no more a Hindu than I am a born deaf mute . . ."

" Bhai, bhai," suddenly called a voice ; " you are invited to Manilal's house tonight."

The man before me blushed. His black face went a shade darker and he shook with excitement. " Excuse me, Sir, but I must speak to my friend," he said in a tremble.

A moment later he came back, and grinned delightedh . " They have accepted me," he said, bursting with the glad tidings.

" Who ? "

" The girl's people."

" So you are going to marry again ? " I asked him.

" To be sure. What is life without a wife ?

" Even if she beats you ? "

" Ah, Sir, there lies the real pleasure."