Telugu Original: Ampasayya Naveen
Translated by Rajeshwar Mittapalli

It had been a very long time since Avinash last came to our house. During my years as a lecturer he was one of my brightest students. He was quick, steady in his work, and keen to learn. After he completed his M.A. in Economics with first?class honours, he secured a post as an assistant professor. In due course he married and settled into a comfortable domestic life.

He had two children — a daughter and a son. Every so often he would turn up at our door. He would sit for a short while, ask about our health, tell us a little about his own household and his work, and then hurry away again. When I saw him that afternoon — neat, composed, and as polite as ever — I felt a familiar warmth rise in me.

“Avinash, it’s been far too long. What’s the latest news?” I asked.

“Sir, they’ve kept me on my toes these days. The principal’s made me vice?principal and dumped the entire college in my lap while he puts his feet up. I hardly get a moment’s rest,” he said, and he laughed.

“I see,” I replied.

He glanced round the room and then leaned forward.

“How are you all keeping, sir? With this corona all around, you never really know what’s going on in anyone’s house,” he said.

“We’re all right, Avinash. So far things have held steady. They say the pandemic has eased now,” I answered.

“Yes, it has eased a bit, and weddings have started again. In fact, I’ve just come back from one. You wouldn’t believe what a spectacle it was — I have not seen anything on that scale,” he said.

“What was special about it?” I asked.

“Both families are rich, and they did not hold back. They spent ten lakhs on the wedding mandapam alone. The decorations, the guests, the arrangements — everything looked lavish. The bride and groom are software engineers, both of them. They’re well educated, smart, attractive — you’d say they were made for each other. And the food! Thirty or forty dishes. I stood there with my plate and I honestly could not decide what to taste first.”

“Were you there on the bride’s side or the groom’s side?” I asked.

“I went with the groom’s people, sir. He’s my sister’s boy, my own nephew. He’s been intelligence from childhood. He always came first in his class. Once he started using a computer, he could sit in front of it for hours. He forgot meals. He forgot sleep. He did not bother about anything outside his work.

“For years he swore he’d never marry. He used to say, ‘I’m content as I am now. Marriage is a cage. I have no wish to step into it.’ Even after he crossed thirty, he would talk in the same way. My sister and her husband, and the rest of us, kept coaxing him. In the end he gave in. Luckily we found a good match for him.”

Avinash paused for a moment before he went on.

“The girl is a software engineer as well. We took their horoscopes to the astrologers. They praised the match. They said the stars matched beautifully and that the two of them would share a very happy married life. They said their house would be full of prosperity and children. We were delighted. Once the auspicious day was fixed, our people first asked for a dowry of two crores. The elders then stepped in and argued and bargained until it came down to one and a half.”

“People keep saying dowries have gone,” I remarked, “but it seems they have gone from lakhs to crores instead.”

“Exactly, sir. These days the groom’s side goes around boasting that they’re getting two crores, and the bride’s side goes around boasting that they’re giving two crores,” Avinash said, and his mouth twisted in a small, helpless smile.

“It appears there is plenty of money in circulation. The middle class has grown. People earn through every possible route, and salaries have risen. To go on calling India a poor country feels less and less honest,” I said.

“That is true, sir. But one thing at that wedding stayed with me.” He hesitated, as if he were weighing his words. “The girl seemed very modern. Fast, you might say. She looked full of energy and very sure of herself. She has a big circle of friends — men as well as women. All of them threw themselves into the celebrations without any shyness. Soon after the formal ceremony, she began to dance with them. They tried to pull Bharat in too, but he refused to move.

“I sat there and wondered whether he could keep up with a girl like that. His world is made of screens and code. How will he match her pace? And how will she manage with him?”

“People grow after marriage, Avinash. Life keeps shifting — no one stands still. Bharat will change a little, and she will change a little. That is what holds a marriage together. Adjustment comes, even if it comes slowly. I trust it will come for them too,” I said.

“Well, let’s hope you’re right, sir,” he said. He stood up, made his polite farewell, and went on his way.

That evening, after he left, I found my thoughts drifting back to that couple — Bharat and Spandana. I tried to picture them under the same roof. Would they soften towards each other? Would they move a little from their fixed positions? Both were educated. Both were intelligent. It seemed reasonable to believe they would find some understanding and build a life together.

Two weeks passed before Avinash appeared at our doorstep again.

“Sir,” he said as soon as he entered the room, “I’ve come to talk to you about Bharat and Spandana’s marriage.”

“Yes? How is it going?” I asked.

He pulled a chair closer and sat down.

“Only two or three days after the wedding,” he said, “they arranged their wedding night in a five star hotel. Grand room, flowers, the lot. That was the night they really talked. Spandana told him, ‘If we’re going to live happily, you’ll have to agree to some conditions.’

“He asked her what they were. She took out a sheet of paper from her handbag and handed it to him.

“Condition one: we won’t have children for five years.

“Condition two: I like going to clubs and pubs. You’re welcome to come with me. If you don’t want to come, you shouldn’t object to my going.

“Condition three: I’ve many friends — men as well as women. They’ll drop in to see me from time to time. I don’t have affairs with any of them now. Before marriage I may have had one or two boyfriends, but after marriage I’ll stay with my husband alone.

“Condition four: the money I earn will remain in my bank account, and what you earn will remain in yours. Each of us will spend our own money as we see fit. There will be no mixing of your money and my money.

“Condition five: you’re not to drag me to your parents’ house, and you’re not to expect me to wait on your mother. I’ll visit my in?laws when I wish. Those are my conditions. If you’ve any of your own, you can tell me now.’

“When he read that list, Bharat was stunned. He has always been quiet and withdrawn. He hardly speaks even when he is among his own people. He sat there in silence for some time. At last he said, ‘Nothing.’ That was all.

“I don’t know what happened after that. Once he saw those conditions, his mood simply collapsed. I have a strong feeling he turned to one side and went to sleep without even reaching out to her,” Avinash said.

I remained silent for a while. The picture in my mind — the garlands, the hotel room, the two of them on either side of a large bed — felt strangely heavy.

Then I said, “Girls today are becoming very accustomed to Western ways.”

A month went by before Avinash came again.

“How is their married life now, Avinash?” I asked.

“Not well at all, sir,” he replied. “They’re hardly living together in any real sense. She keeps going to clubs and pubs with her friends. Most of them are men. He has buried himself in office work.”

He paused and shifted in his chair.

“His company has links with Saudi Arabian firms,” he said. “They send big projects — outsourcing work. If he fails to meet a deadline, they cancel the order at once. Bharat works through the night and sleeps till one in the afternoon.

“One afternoon she came to his office and began to taunt him. ‘Why did you even marry?’ she said. She called him an impotent bastard. She shouted that he’d ruined her life. She repeated that word again and again — impotent. He could not bear it any longer. He lost his temper and flung his smartphone at her. It struck her on the nose and it started to bleed.

“She flew into a rage and raked her nails down his face. Blood ran in red lines down his cheeks. His colleagues in the office heard the commotion. They ran in and pulled the two of them apart.”

Avinash’s voice tightened as he went on.

“She went straight to the police station and lodged a complaint under the Domestic Violence Act. The police sent a summons to Bharat. She did not stop with his name. She also mentioned his mother, his father, his sister and his brother. All of them are now part of the case. That is where matters stand. What do you think will happen, sir?”

“Tell them to seek a divorce by mutual consent,” I said.

“I’ve already told them that, sir. For mutual consent, she’s demanding ten crores. She says she won’t agree for a rupee less,” Avinash said.

“My word,” I exclaimed.

At that moment it seemed to me that even God Himself would not be able to stop that marriage from breaking apart.

“Marriages are Made in Heaven” is titled “Pellillu Swargamlo Jarugutayi” in Telugu.
Translated into English by Rajeshwar Mittapalli.

Ampasayya Naveen is an accomplished author and Sahitya Akademi laureate who has to his credit more than 30 novels and 100 short stories in Telugu. The most well-known of his novels are Ampasayya, Antasravanti, Kalarekhalu, and Premaku Avali Teeram. He is a pioneer of the stream-of-consciousness mode of writing in Telugu. His fictional works have been widely translated, including into English. In recognition of his contribution to Telugu fiction, apart from the Sahitya Akademi Award, he was conferred at least two honorary doctorates by universities.