The Rajkumar of Marh, who was interested in young men more than in the jargon of the Zamindari Bill, looked at the handsome pair with a little more than approval.
The elder Bannerji (‘P.N.’) glanced quickly at his son (‘S.N.’) as if to say, ‘I told you we should have had the conference in our chambers.’
The Nawab Sahib felt that he had been caught redhanded, plotting against Mahesh Kapoor’s bill with a man whom he would normally have shunned.
And Mahesh Kapoor realized instantly that he was the least welcome intruder imaginable at this working conference – for it was he who was the enemy, the expropriator, the government, the fount of injustice, the other side.
It was, however, Mahesh Kapoor who broke the ice among the elder circle by going up to the Nawab Sahib and taking his hand. He did not say anything, but slowly nodded his head. No words of sympathy or apology were needed. The Nawab Sahib knew immediately that his friend would have done anything in his power to help him when Baitar House was under siege – but that he had been ignorant of the crisis.
The Raja of Marh broke the silence with a laugh: ‘So you have come to spy on us! We are flattered. No mere minion but the Minister himself.’
Mahesh Kapoor said: ‘Since I was not blinded by the vision of your gold number-plates outside, I could hardly have known you were here. Presumably, you came by rickshaw.’
‘I will have to count my number-plates before I leave,’ continued the Raja of Marh.
‘If you need any help, let me send my son with you. He can count till two,’ said Mahesh Kapoor.
The Raja of Marh had become red in the face. ‘Was this planned?’ he demanded of the Nawab Sahib. He was thinking that this could well be a plot by the Muslims and their sympathizers to humiliate him.
The Nawab Sahib found his voice. ‘No, Your Highness, it was not. And I apologize to all of you, especially to you, Mr Bannerji – I should not have insisted that we meet here.’
Since common interest in the impending litigation had thrown him together with the Raja of Marh anyway, the Nawab Sahib had hoped that by inviting the Raja to his own house he might get the chance to talk to him a little about the Shiva Temple in Chowk – or at least to create the possibility of a later talk. The communal situation among the Hindus and Muslims in Brahmpur was so troubling that the Nawab had swallowed his gorge and a little of his pride in order to help sort things out. The move had now backfired.
The elder of the Bony Bespectacleds, appalled by what had gone before, now said in a rather finicky voice: ‘Well, I think we have already discussed the main lines of the matter, and can adjourn for the moment. I will inform my father by letter of what has been said by all sides, and I hope I can persuade him to appear for us in this matter if and when it is necessary.’
He was referring to the great G.N. Bannerji, a lawyer of legendary fame, acumen, and rapacity. If, as was now almost inevitable, the amended bill went through in the Upper House, obtained the President of India’s signature, and became law, it would certainly be challenged in the Brahmpur High Court. If G.N. Bannerji could be persuaded to appear on behalf of the landlords, it would considerably improve their chances of having the act declared unconstitutional, and therefore null and void.
The Bannerjis took their leave. The younger Bannerji, though no older than Firoz, had a flourishing practice already. He was intelligent, worked hard, had cases shovelled his way by his family’s old clients, and thought of Firoz as rather too languid for life at the Bar. Firoz admired his intelligence but thought him a prig, a little along the lines of his finicky father. His grandfather, the great G.N. Bannerji, however, was not a prig. Though he was in his seventies, he was as energetic erect on his feet in court as erect off his feet in bed. The huge, some would say unscrupulous, fees he insisted on before he accepted a case went to support a scattered harem of women; but he still succeeded in living beyond his means.
The Rajkumar of Marh was a basically decent and not bad-looking but somewhat weak young man who was bullied by his father. Firoz loathed the crude, Muslim-baiting Raja: ‘black as coal with his diamond buttons and ear-tops‘. His sense of family honour made him keep his distance from the Rajkumar as well. Not so Maan, who was inclined to like people unless they made themselves unlikable. The Rajkumar, quite attracted by Maan, and discovering that he was at a loose end these days, suggested a few things that they could do together, and Maan agreed to meet him later in the week.
Meanwhile the Raja of Marh, the Nawab Sahib, and Mahesh Kapoor were standing by the table in the full light of the chandelier. Mahesh Kapoor’s eyes fell on the papers spread out on the table, but then, remembering the Raja’s earlier jeer, he quickly turned his gaze away.