A Suitable Boy(116)

‘No,’ said Bhaskar. It was clear from the tone of his answer, however, that he did not think this mattered.

Though Bhaskar did not say anything when he got home, his mother could tell from one glance at his face that he had had a wonderfully stimulating time. She took his various objects off him and told him to wash his gummy hands. Then, almost with tears in her eyes, she thanked Haresh.

‘It’s so kind of you to have taken this trouble, Haresh Bhai. I can tell what this has meant to him,’ Veena said.

‘Well,’ said Haresh with a smile, ‘that’s more than I can.’





4.11


MEANWHILE, the brogues were sitting on their lasts in Jagat Ram’s workshop. Two days passed. On the appointed day at two o’clock, Haresh came to collect the shoes and the lasts. Jagat Ram’s little daughter recognized him, and clapped her hands at his arrival. She was entertaining herself with a song, and since he was there, she entertained him too. The song went as follows:

Ram Ram Shah, Ram Ram Shah,



Alu ka rasa, Gravy made from spuds,



Mendaki ki chatni – Chutney made from female frog –



Aa gaya nasha! Drink it, and you’re drunk!





Haresh looked the shoes over with a practised eye. They were well made. The uppers had been stitched excellently, though on the simple sewing machine in front of him. The lasting had been carefully done – there were no bubbles or wrinkles. The finishing was fine, down to the coloration of the leather of the punched brogue. He was well pleased. He had been strict in his demands, but now he gave Jagat Ram one-and-a-half times as much as he had promised him by way of payment.

‘You will be hearing from me,’ he promised.

‘Well, Haresh Sahib, I certainly hope so,’ said Jagat Ram. ‘You’re really leaving today? A pity.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

‘And you stayed on just for this?’

‘Yes, I would have left in two days instead of four otherwise.’

‘Well, I hope they like this pair at CLFC.’

With that they parted. Haresh did a few chores, made a few small purchases, went back to Sunil’s, returned his brogues, packed, said goodbye, and took a tonga to the station to catch the evening train to Kanpur. On the way he stopped at Kedarnath’s to thank him.

‘I hope I can be of some help to you,’ said Haresh, shaking his hand warmly.

‘You already have, Veena tells me.’

‘I meant, by way of business.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ said Kedarnath. ‘And, well, if I can help you in any way…’

They shook hands.

‘Tell me –’ said Haresh suddenly. ‘I have been meaning to ask you this for several days now – how did you get all those scars on the inside of your hands? They don’t look as if they’ve been caught in a machine – they’d be scarred on both sides if they had.’

Kedarnath was silent for a few seconds, as if adjusting to a change of thought. ‘I got those during Partition,’ he said. He paused and continued, ‘At the time that we were forced to flee from Lahore, I got a place in a convoy of army trucks and we got into the first truck – my younger brother and I. Nothing, I thought, could be safer. But, well, it was a Baluchi regiment. They stopped just before the Ravi Bridge, and Muslim ruffians came from behind the timber yards there and started butchering us with their spears. My younger brother has marks on his back and I have these on my palms and my wrist – I tried to hold onto the blade of the spear… I was in hospital for a month.’

Haresh’s face betrayed his shock. Kedarnath continued, closing his eyes, but in a calm voice: ‘Twenty or thirty people were slaughtered in two minutes – someone’s father, someone’s daughter… By the greatest of luck a Gurkha regiment was coming from the other side and they began to fire. And, well, the looters fled, and I’m here to tell you the story.’

‘Where was the family?’ asked Haresh. ‘In the other trucks?’

‘No – I’d sent them on by train a little earlier. Bhaskar was only six at the time. Not that the trains were safe either, as you know.’

‘I don’t know if I should have asked these questions,’ said Haresh, feeling atypically embarrassed.

‘No, no – that’s all right. We were fortunate, as these things go. The Muslim trader who used to own my shop here in Brahmpur – well… Strange, though – after all that happened there, I still miss Lahore,’ said Kedarnath. ‘But you’d better hurry or you’ll miss your train.’

Brahmpur junction was as crowded and noisy and smelly as ever: hissing clouds of steam, the whistles of incoming trains, hawkers’ shouts, the stench of fish, the buzz of flies, the scurrying babble of passengers. Haresh felt tired. Though it was past six o’clock it was still very warm. He touched an agate cuff-link and wondered at its coolness.