The Corrosion of Lies

There were comparatively few Indian students in England forty years ago... It was a practice with them to affect the bachelor even though they might be married. School or College students in England are all bachelors, studies being regarded as incompatible with married life. We had that tradition in the good old days, a student then being invariably known as a brahmachari.⁸ But in these days we have child marriages, a thing practically unknown in England. Indian youths in England therefore felt ashamed to confess that they were married. There was also another reason for dissembling, namely that in the event of the fact being known it would be impossible for the young men to go about or flirt with the young girls of the family in which they lived. The flirting was more or less innocent. Parents even encouraged it; and that sort of association between young men and young women may even be a necessity there, in view of the fact that every young man has to choose his mate. If, however, Indian youths on arrival in England indulge in these relations, quite natural to English youths, the result is likely to be disastrous, as has often been found. I saw that our youths had succumbed to the temptation and chosen a life of untruth for the sake of companionships which, however innocent in the case of English youths, were for them undesirable. I too caught the contagion. I did not hesitate to pass myself off as a bachelor though I was married and the father of a son. But I was none the happier for being a dissembler. Only my reserve and my reticence saved me from going into deeper waters. If I did not talk, no girl would think it worth her while to enter into conversation with me, or to go out with me.

There were relatively few Indian students in England forty years ago... They usually pretended to be unmarried, even if they were married. School and college students in England are all unmarried, since studying is considered incompatible with married life. We had that tradition in the good old days. A student was then always known as a brahmachari.⁸ But these days we have child marriages, which are practically unknown in England. Indian youths in England therefore felt ashamed to admit they were married. There was another reason for hiding their marriages. If the truth became known, the young men could not go out or flirt with the young women in their host families. The flirting was more or less innocent. Parents even encouraged it. In England, such friendships between young men and women may even be necessary, since every young man must choose his mate. But if Indian youths take part in these relationships after arriving in England, the results are likely to be disastrous. This has often proved true, even though such relationships are quite natural for English youths. I saw that our youths had given in to temptation and chosen to live a lie for the sake of companionship. Such companionship was undesirable for them, however innocent it might be for English youths. I too caught the contagion. I did not hesitate to pretend I was unmarried, though I was married and had a son. But I was no happier for living a lie. Only my reserve and my reluctance to speak kept me from getting into deeper trouble. If I did not talk, no girl would think it worth her while to talk or go out with me.

My cowardice was on a par with my reserve. It was customary in families like the one in which I was staying at Ventnor for the daughter of the landlady to take out guests for a walk. My landlady’s daughter took me one day to the lovely hills round Ventnor. I was no slow walker, but my companion walked even faster, dragging me after her and chattering away all the while. I responded to her chatter sometimes with a whispered ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ or at the most ‘yes, how beautiful!’ She was flying like a bird whilst I was wondering when I should get back home. We thus reached the top of a hill. How to get down again was, the question. In spite of her high-heeled boots this sprightly young lady of twenty-five darted down the hill like an arrow. I was shamefacedly struggling to get down. She stood at the foot smiling and cheering me and offering to come and drag me. How could I be so chickenhearted? With the greatest difficulty, and crawling at intervals, I somehow managed to scramble to the bottom. She loudly laughed ‘bravo’ and shamed me all the more, as well she might.

I was as cowardly as I was reserved. In families like the one I was staying with in Ventnor, the landlady’s daughter usually took guests out for walks. One day, my landlady’s daughter took me to the lovely hills around Ventnor. I was not a slow walker, but she walked even faster. She dragged me along behind her, chatting all the while. Sometimes I answered with a whispered ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ or at most, ‘yes, how beautiful!’ She flew along like a bird, while I wondered when I would get back home. We reached the top of a hill. The question was how to get down again. Despite her high-heeled boots, this lively young woman of twenty-five darted down the hill like an arrow. I struggled to get down, feeling ashamed. She stood at the bottom, smiling and cheering me on, and offering to come and drag me down. How could I be so cowardly? With great difficulty, and crawling at times, I somehow managed to scramble to the bottom. She laughed loudly and cried ‘bravo,’ making me even more ashamed, as she had every reason to do.

But I could not escape scatheless everywhere. For God wanted to rid me of the canker of untruth. I once went to Brighton, another watering-place like Ventnor. This was before the Ventnor visit. I met there at a hotel an old widow of moderate means. This was my first year in England. The courses on the menu were all described in French, which I did not understand. I sat at the same table as the old lady. She saw that I was a stranger and puzzled, and immediately came to my aid. ‘You seem to be a stranger,’ she said, ‘and look perplexed. Why have you not ordered anything?’ I was spelling through the menu and preparing to ascertain the ingredients of the courses from the waiter, when the good lady thus intervened. I thanked her, and explaining my difficulty, told her that I was at a loss to know which of the courses were vegetarian as I did not understand French.

But I could not escape unharmed everywhere. For God wanted to rid me of the corruption of untruth. I once went to Brighton, another seaside resort like Ventnor. This was before my visit to Ventnor. At a hotel there, I met an elderly widow of modest means. This was during my first year in England. All the dishes on the menu were described in French, which I did not understand. I sat at the same table as the elderly lady. She saw that I was a stranger and was puzzled, and immediately came to my aid. ‘You seem to be a stranger,’ she said, ‘and look confused. Why haven’t you ordered anything?’ I had been trying to read the menu and preparing to ask the waiter what the dishes contained. Then the kind lady stepped in. I thanked her and explained my difficulty. I told her that I did not know French, so I could not tell which dishes were vegetarian.

‘Let me help you,’ she said. ‘I shall explain the card to you and show you what you may eat.’ I gratefully availed myself of her help. This was the beginning of an acquaintance that ripened into friendship and was kept up all through my stay in England and long after. She gave me her London address and invited me to dine at her house every Sunday. On special occasions also she would invite me, help me to conquer my bashfulness and introduce me to young ladies and draw me into conversation with them. Particularly marked out for these conversations was a young lady who stayed with her, and often we would be left entirely alone together.

‘Let me help you,’ she said. ‘I’ll explain the menu and show you what you can eat.’ I gratefully accepted her help. This was the beginning of an acquaintance that grew into a friendship. It lasted throughout my stay in England and long afterward. She gave me her London address and invited me to dine at her house every Sunday. She also invited me on special occasions. She helped me overcome my shyness, introduced me to young women, and drew me into conversation with them. She especially encouraged me to talk with a young woman who stayed with her. Often, the two of us were left entirely alone together.

I found all this very trying at first. I could not start a conversation nor could I indulge in any jokes. But she put me in the way. I began to learn; and in course of time looked forward to every Sunday and came to like the conversations with the young friend.

I found all this very difficult at first. I could not start a conversation or make jokes. But she helped me learn how. In time, I began to look forward to every Sunday and enjoyed talking with my young friend.

The old lady went on spreading her net wider every day. She felt interested in our meetings. Possibly she had her own plans about us.

The old lady kept spreading her net wider every day. She was interested in our meetings. Perhaps she had her own plans for us.

I was in a quandary. ‘How I wished I had told the good lady that I was married!’ I said to myself. ‘She would then have not thought of an engagement between us. It is however never too late to mend. If I declare the truth I might yet be saved more misery.’ With these thoughts in my mind, I wrote a letter to her somewhat to this effect:

I was in a difficult situation. ‘I wish I had told the kind lady that I was married!’ I said to myself. ‘Then she would not have thought of an engagement between us. But it is never too late to put things right. If I tell her the truth, I might still spare myself more misery.’ With these thoughts in mind, I wrote her a letter that went something like this:

‘Ever since we met at Brighton you have been kind to me. You have taken care of me even as a mother of her son. You also think that I should get married and with that view you have been introducing me to young ladies. Rather than allow matters to go further, I must confess to you that I have been unworthy of your affection. I should have told you when I began my visits to you that I was married. I knew that Indian students in England dissembled the fact of their marriage and I followed suit. I now see that I should not have done so. I must also add that I was married while yet a boy, and am the father of a son. I am pained that I should have kept this knowledge from you so long. But I am glad God has now given me the courage to speak out the truth. Will you forgive me? I assure you I have taken no improper liberties with the young lady you were good enough to introduce to me. I knew my limits. You, not knowing that I was married, naturally desired that we should be engaged. In order that things should not go beyond the present stage, I must tell you the truth.

‘Ever since we met at Brighton, you have been kind to me. You have cared for me as a mother cares for her son. You also think I should marry, and you have been introducing me to young women with that in mind. Before things go any further, I must confess that I have been unworthy of your affection. I should have told you when I began visiting you that I was married. I knew that Indian students in England hid the fact that they were married, and I did the same. I now see that I should not have done so. I must also tell you that I married while I was still a boy, and I have a son. I am sorry that I kept this from you for so long. But I am glad that God has now given me the courage to tell the truth. Will you forgive me? I assure you that I have taken no improper liberties with the young woman you kindly introduced me to. I knew my limits. Since you did not know I was married, you naturally hoped we would become engaged. I must tell you the truth so that things go no further.

‘If on receipt of this, you feel that I have been unworthy of your hospitality, I assure you I shall not take it amiss. You have laid me under an everlasting debt of gratitude by your kindness and solicitude. If, after this, you do not reject me but continue to regard me as worthy of your hospitality, which I will spare no pains to deserve, I shall naturally be happy and count it a further token of your kindness.’

‘If you feel, after reading this, that I have been unworthy of your hospitality, I assure you I will not be offended. Your kindness and concern have left me forever in your debt. But if you do not reject me and still consider me worthy of your hospitality, I will be happy. I will do everything I can to deserve it, and I will see it as another sign of your kindness.’

Let the reader know that I could not have written such a letter in a moment. I must have drafted and redrafted it many times over. But it lifted a burden that was weighing me down. Almost by return post came her reply somewhat as follows:

The reader should know that I could not have written such a letter quickly. I must have drafted and redrafted it many times. But writing it lifted a burden that had been weighing me down. Her reply came almost by return post and went somewhat like this:

‘I have your frank letter. We were both very glad and had a hearty laugh over it. The untruth you say you have been guilty of is pardonable. But it is well that you have acquainted us with the real state of things. My invitation still stands and we shall certainly expect you next Sunday and look forward to hearing all about your child-marriage and to the pleasure of laughing at your expense. Need I assure you that our friendship is not in the least affected by this incident?’

‘I received your honest letter. We were both very glad to get it and had a good laugh over it. The lie you say you told is forgivable. But we are glad you told us the truth. My invitation still stands. We certainly expect you next Sunday. We look forward to hearing all about your child marriage and having a laugh at your expense. Need I assure you that this incident has not affected our friendship in the least?’

I thus purged myself of the canker of untruth and I never thenceforward hesitated to talk of my married state wherever necessary.

In this way, I freed myself from the corruption of untruth. From then on, I never hesitated to mention that I was married whenever necessary.