Arresting God in Kathmandu Read Free Page A

wondered how she, with her meager income as a housemaid, could afford an apartment in the city’s center. Then a curious thought entered his head: could she be a prostitute? Yet he knew she wasn’t. As if divining his thought, she said, “The owner of this house is from our village. He knew my father, and he treats me like a daughter. Very kind man. Not many like him these days, you know.”
    He smiled to himself. Yes, he knew. He said nothing.
    When she brought the tea, she sat next to him, and they sipped in silence. Soon he felt drowsy and lay down on the bed. She moved beside him, took his hand, and placed it on her breast. He ran his finger across her plump face. Her eyes were closed. He had no reaction except that there was an inevitability to this, something he’d sensed the moment she began to talk to him in the park.
    When he made love to her, it was not with hunger or passion; the act had its own momentum. He was not the one lifting her sari, fumbling with her petticoat, he was not the one doing the penetrating. She required nothing. She just lay beneath him, matching his moves only as the act demanded.
    He stayed with her until dusk. They ate, slept, and then he got up to survey the marketplace again. The crowd had swelled; strident voices of women haggling with vendors rose to the window. He felt removed from all of it, a distant observer who had to fulfill no obligations, meet no responsibilities, perform no tasks.
    When he got home that evening, he was uncharacteristically talkative. He even played with the baby, cooing to her and swinging her in his arms. Radhika’s face brightened, and she asked whether he had good news about a job. He said, “What job? There are no jobs,” and her face darkened again.
     
    During the afternoons Pramod still pursued his contacts, hoping something would come along, but the late mornings he reserved for the housemaid. They often met in the park after she’d finished her work and walked to her room in Asan. On Saturdays and holidays he stayed home, sometimes playing with the baby, sometimes listening to the radio.
    Once while he and Radhika were preparing for bed, she looked at the baby and said, “We have to think of her future.”
    Pramod caressed his daughter’s face and replied, “I’m sure something will happen,” although he had no idea of any prospect.
    Putting her hand on his, Radhika said, “I know you’re trying. But maybe you should see more people. I went to Shambhu-da yesterday, and he says he’ll find you something soon.”
    “Shambhu-da.” Pramod suppressed a groan.
    “He’s the only one who can help us.”
    “I don’t need his help,” said Pramod.
    “Don’t say that. If you say that, nothing will happen.” Pramod jumped from the bed and said, trembling, “What do you mean, nothing will happen? What’s happening now? Is anything happening now?”
    One cloudy morning as Pramod and the housemaid left the park and entered the marketplace, he saw Homraj walking toward them, swinging his umbrella.
    Before Pramod could hide, Homraj asked, “Oh, Pramod-ji, have you come here to buy vegetables?” He looked at the housemaid curiously. Pramod swallowed and nodded. “Nothing yet, huh?” Homraj asked. “My nephew can’t find a job either, but his situation is a little different.”
    Pramod, conscious of the housemaid by his side, wished she would move on. He put his hands in his pockets and said, “Looks like rain, so I’ll have to go,” and he walked away, leaving her standing with Homraj.
    Later, she caught up with him and asked, “Why were you afraid? What’s there to be afraid of?” Pramod, his face grim, kept walking, and when they reached her room, he threw himself on her cot and turned his face away. His chest was so tight that he had to concentrate on breathing. She said nothing more. After setting the water to boil, she came and sat beside him.
     
    Pramod stopped his search for a job and was absent from his house most of the