Haresh had promised to try to come, ‘work permitting’. Sunil had threatened him with excommunication if he didn’t.
Now he was here, but talking endlessly and enthusiastically about his day’s efforts.
‘Oh stop it, Haresh, don’t tell us about chamars and micro-sheets,’ said Sunil. ‘We’re not interested in all that. What happened to that Sikh girl you used to chase in your headier days?’
‘It wasn’t a sardarni, it was the inimitable Kalpana Gaur,’ said a young historian. He tilted his head to the left as wistfully as he could in exaggerated imitation of Kalpana Gaur’s adoring gaze at Haresh from the other side of the room during lectures on Byron. Kalpana had been one of the few women students at St Stephen’s.
‘Uh –’ said Sunil with dismissive authority. ‘You don’t know the true facts of the matter. Kalpana Gaur was chasing him, and he was chasing the sardarni. He used to serenade her outside the walls of her family’s house and send her letters through go-betweens. The Sikh family couldn’t bear the thought of their beloved daughter getting married to a Lala. If you want further details –’
‘He’s intoxicated with his own voice,’ said Haresh.
‘So I am,’ said Sunil. ‘But you – you misdirected yours. You should have wooed not the girl but the mother and the grandmother.’
‘Thanks,’ said Haresh.
‘So do you still keep in touch with her? What was her name –’
Haresh did not oblige with any information. He was in no mood to tell these affable idiots that he was still very much in love with her after all these years – and that, together with his toe-puffs and counters, he kept a silver-framed photograph of her in his suitcase.
‘Take those shoes off,’ he said to Sunil. ‘I want them back.’
‘You swine!’ said Sunil. ‘Just because I happened to mention the holiest of holies…’
‘You donkey,’ replied Haresh. ‘I’m not going to eat them – I’ll give them back to you in a few days.’
‘What are you going to do with them?’
‘You’d be bored if I told you. Come on, take them off.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes, why not? A few drinks later I’ll have forgotten and you’ll have gone off to sleep with them on.’
‘Oh, all right !’ said Sunil obligingly and took off his shoes.
‘That’s better,’ said Haresh. ‘It’s brought you an inch closer to my height. What glorious socks,’ he added, as Sunil’s bright red cotton tartan socks came more fully into view.
‘Wah! wah!’ There were cries of approval from all sides.
‘What beautiful ankles,’ continued Haresh. ‘Let’s have a performance!’
‘Light the chandeliers,’ cried someone. ‘Bring out the emerald goblets.’
‘Sprinkle the attar of roses.’
‘Lay a white sheet on the floor and charge an entrance fee!’
The young historian, in the affected tones of an official announcer, informed the audience: ‘The famous Courtesan Sunil Patwardhan will now perform for us her exquisite rendering of the kathak dance. Lord Krishna is dancing with the milkmaids. “Come,” he says to the gopis, “Come to me. What is there to fear?” ’
‘Tha-tha-thai-thai!’ said a drunken physicist, imitating the sound of the dance steps.
‘Not courtesan, you lout, artiste!’
‘Artiste!’ said the historian, prolonging the last vowel.
‘Come on, Sunil – we’re waiting.’
And Sunil, obliging fellow that he was, danced a few clumpish steps of quasi-kathak while his friends rolled around with laughter. He simpered coyly as he twirled his chubby bulk about the room, knocking a book down here and spilling someone’s drink there. He then became completely engrossed in what he was doing, and followed his rendition of Krishna and the gopis – in which he played both parts – with an impromptu scene representing the Vice-Chancellor of Brahmpur University (a notorious and indiscriminate womanizer) oilily greeting the poet Sarojini Naidu when she came as the chief guest at the Annual Day ceremonies. Some of his friends, helpless with laughter, begged him to stop, and others, equally helpless, begged him to dance for ever.
4.7
INTO this scene walked a tall, white-haired gentleman, Dr Durrani. He was mildly surprised to see what was going on inside. Sunil froze in mid-dance, indeed in mid-stance – but then went forward to greet his unexpected guest.
Dr Durrani was not as surprised as he should have been; a mathematical problem was occupying the large part of his cerebrum. He had decided to walk over and discuss it with his young colleague. In fact it had been Sunil who had given him the impetus for his idea in the first place.