Travelers by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala Page A

idea of him but that’s not possible, I don’t have the words. There are all sorts of people here and they all have different problems but now every one of us is learning to see how trivial these things which we thought important really are. So far our group is still quite small but more and more people will come to him not only from here but from all over the world and he is in fact planning to make it a world movement and will be leaving for a foreign tour as soon as it can be arranged. I’m sending you some literature—Swamiji says you should see this—I’m afraid it’s locally printed so not very good but it will give you some idea. Swamiji would like you to show it to Rao Sahib too and other political people and if you want more to distribute please write and we will send . . .”
    Asha Feels Old
    Gopi threw his brand-new silk robe round himself and tied the belt with an easy, practiced movement. Asha watched and admired him. She sighed and said, “He loves you so much.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œRaymond.”
    Gopi was used to Asha’s disconnected thoughts. He said, “I’m also very fond of him.”
    At that she burst out laughing. She looked into his face and stroked his cheeks, laughing at him.
    â€œWe’re great friends,” Gopi urged, puzzled by her laughter.
    â€œOh, you’re so sweet, and how I love you, how I love you!”
    Gopi held the hand with which she was stroking his cheek and, opening it, gently kissed the palm. Then her laughter changed to sorrow. She felt so terribly unworthy of him—of his youth and his innocence. She had discovered long ago that he had no idea of his true relationship with Raymond. He really genuinely thought they were just great friends. Asha had made no attempt to enlighten him. She felt it was right he shouldn’t know about these things but should remain fresh and sprightly, a devotee only of natural love. But here her own guilt stabbed her like a dagger: she knew there was nothing natural about her own relationship with him.
    She gazed into his face. Her lips trembled. “I’m so old,” she said.
    He couldn’t bear to hear her say that. And yet there was no getting away from the fact. He was relieved when the hotel bearer entered with the drinks that had been ordered. Gopi gave Asha hers and then leaned against the pillows by her side and sipped his. Now all bad thoughts disappeared and he was contented and satisfied again.
    She told him, “I had a letter from Lee,” but in so sighing a voice that he asked, “Is she sick?”
    â€œOh, no. She is very, very well. Give me my purse.”
    He fetched it for her and she gave him the letter to read. He frowned a bit over it in an effort to understand; he always read slowly and with his lips moving to form the words. He also looked at the pamphlets but here he was on surer ground; he didn’t have to read them carefully because he knew what was written in them. His eyes passed swiftly over the blurred print and he swayed his head in unquestioning appreciation. These were holy, good, and true things.
    â€œShe wants me to come there,” Asha said.
    â€œYes, why not? We can both go for two–three days.”
    Asha sighed again and said nothing.
    â€œIt will be quite nice,” Gopi said, getting enthusiastic. “When I was small, my mother took me sometimes to visit her guru’s ashram. They have quite a jolly time there and the food is not bad. Of course it’s all vegetarian but nicely cooked in ghee and there are a lot of sweets that people bring. Now what’s the matter?”
    â€œNo, no, nothing,” she said with tears streaming from her eyes. She tried to wipe them away. She hated herself for disturbing him. But she could not help herself. She began to talk rather quickly, as if to explain herself and take away the puzzled expression from his face. “I know a holy person. She is called