There were streaks of orange light in the evening sky. The natural light gave place to masses of light southeast of Pame, upon which the urban Lakeside glowed like a constellation of stars. Sitting cross-legged on the grass and holding each other’s hands, both Raju and Rukmini lost track of time. They had no clue the day had slipped away just like that. It always seems like time passes more quickly when a person is with someone who gets them. It was possible that Raju and Rukmini might have been the actors of this phenomenon.

When they first clasped their hands, it felt so natural—despite their different statuses, they didn’t perceive it as a mistake and went about their business, mumbling an assuring word every once in a while. Raju, a father to an 8-year-old daughter, had never laid his eyes on any other woman than his wife. To Raju, adultery was nothing less than a crime, yet this new progress with his mistress hadn’t instilled a tinge of guilt in him. Rukmini was someone who could put up a fight with anyone if she believed what she was doing was just.

Her vigorous attitude had dissipated after her husband’s death, but a thin layer of this attitude still stuck to every fabric of her being. A rotund man who owned a biscuit factory on the plains of Pokhara had asked her out, but she didn’t reply to his text on Facebook. She vividly remembered he had shown up at her husband’s funeral, too. A long coat he wore over his paunch was a total misfit not only for his body but for the occasion as well. One day on Facebook, he had written to Rukmini, “I can sense that you’re disturbed. Let’s catch up for lunch tomorrow.” If Rukmini had wanted, she would have rendezvoused at some bistro, but she thought that the man’s intention was as dark as his skin.

As darkness approached, they drew an inference that they should eat out and leave for home. But after climbing into the backseat of her Red Datsun, she asked, “Raju, have you ever observed an aarti?” Raju was fastening the seatbelt around his body, wondering why his mistress opted to settle down in the backseat of her car. All the time they sat on the grass grabbing each other’s hands, their eyes wandered afar, sometimes to the sky. Although they felt so connected, the words didn’t come out easily from both ends. It was as if they were afloat in the silence—their way of conveying their feelings.

A demure-looking Raju pretended as if he hadn’t heard her question, so Rukmini leaned forward and whispered, “Raju, let's go and observe an aarti.” “Okay, Madam,” Raju said with a deadpan expression. Even after those heartfelt moments spent together, Raju addressed her “Madam.” “How innocent this man is!” Rukmini said to herself.

As they drove through the quiet streets of Pame, they made small talk, like how fast the day had passed and which restaurant was Rukmini’s favourite. Raju, at times, felt out of place with Rukmini, especially when she talked about restaurants, bookshops, and other luxuries that only aristocrats could entertain. There was no way he could admit to Rukmini that he didn’t feel at ease when she talked like that, so he was left with no options other than listening to her rich gossip. Although she was aware that Raju might feel offended, she just couldn't stop asking stupid questions. If only I could keep my mouth shut, she often wondered. However, both of them had adjusted to perfection—Rukmini couldn't have met anyone as mannered as Raju, yet sometimes, while conversing, they didn't synchronise at all. In the back of his mind, Raju always alerted himself that he mustn't get stuck in the delusion of the city and its deceptive people, that everything except his family was secondary.

On reaching a point that branched out onto three streets, Rukmini advised Raju to take a left turn, and a few moments later, they were standing behind a throng of devotees immersed in bhajan, a holy verse sung in remembrance of Hindu deities. Amused, Raju looked on, and Rukmini followed the song, her voice blending with those of others to herald Lakeside as a holy spot. Back in the village, Raju and their companions would sit on a straw mat, forming a circle, and sing in unison until the golden rays illuminated the land. From outlanders to local denizens, everyone’s head swayed sideways, and Raju took delight in witnessing this novel way of revering God. Yes, he’d heard about an aarti, but he had never witnessed it with his own eyes—and here he was, with his eccentric mistress, whom he was finding hard to understand.

When it was time to receive prasad, Rukmini took Raju’s hands and pushed through the crowd to finally stand before the priest offering it. “Look at that shameless widow, how she’s hanging out with her servant! No matter how much she worships, God will curse her,” someone from the crowd shouted. Everyone looked stunned as soon as those words dropped to the floor. A woman who demeaned Rukmini must have realised the gravity of her words, for she didn’t back it up with further insults. Raju remained still while Rukmini, her body quivering with anger, peered over her shoulder to discover unfamiliar faces. She couldn't identify the voice, but she was certain that the woman who said it was from her neighbourhood. Before long, the throng of devotees dispersed, to be replaced by young people heading to restaurants and pubs.

“You don’t have to feel bad about it, Madam. People say whatever comes to their mind without weighing other’s situations,” Raju said as he pressed his shoulder against Rukmini. Upset by how the world judged her, she was hurt, but she knew the world would always say one thing or the other no matter what you did. She found solace in Raju’s concern, and it dispelled her anger and frustration. For the first time between them, Raju took charge and hoisted Rukmini’s palms, grazing them with his stubbly face before finally kissing them. Just like Raniban enveloped Phewa Lake, Raju enveloped Rukmini in his sturdy arms, unbothered by people passing them. It wasn’t long before Rukmini pulled herself out from the embrace and suggested Raju they go for a cup of coffee.

Rukmini took Raju to the table that was farthest from the entrance of the poorly lighted cafe. One man and one woman sat at the other tables, which appeared to be designed specifically for couples. It wouldn't be as it is now if the woman hadn't murmured such things during aarti. It surprised Rukmini to learn that sometimes certain behaviours had the opposite effect of what they intended.

At the moment, Raju was engrossed in a woman sitting across from him—the woman he liked to call ‘Madam’ but now intending to replace it with something sweet, a name that city people effortlessly spelled out. A cup of Espresso, as Rukmini called it, didn’t appeal to his tastebuds, but he must get used to the bitterness if he were to walk along with Rukmini.

Back at home that night, Raju experienced a wave of dizziness before going to his bed. His forehead burned with fever, and his face looked as though he would faint any time. Rukmini fetched some medicines from her room and gave them to Raju. Raju lay in bed while Rukmini sat on the bedside table, waiting for Raju to show some signs of recovery. As the fever didn’t go down, Rukmini applied a wet handkerchief to his forehead, and by midnight, the fever gradually decreased. But Rukmini didn’t go to sleep in her room—instead, she slept on the same bed as Raju, who had already passed out. Before dozing off, she wondered how Raju would react to this. Soon, the morning would break out, giving a hint as to how the day would progress.

This is the fourth part of Gautam’s series of stories after ‘The servant’s entry’, ‘Threads of hope’ and ‘A day out in Pame’.

Gautam is a writer from Pokhara.