A Suitable Boy(183)

‘The business money.’

Maan shrugged, and frowned in concentration.

‘And the spending money I gave you?’ continued his father threateningly.

Maan frowned in deeper concentration, and shrugged again.

‘What did you do with it? I’ll tell you what you did with it – you spent it on that whore.’ Mahesh Kapoor would never have referred to Saeeda Bai in such terms if he had not been driven beyond the limit of restraint.

Mrs Mahesh Kapoor put her hands to her ears. Her husband snorted. She was behaving, he thought impatiently, like all three of Gandhiji’s monkeys rolled into one. She would be clapping her hands over her mouth next.

Maan looked at his father, thought for a second, then said, ‘No. I only brought her small presents. She never asked for anything more…’ He was wondering to himself where the money could have gone.

‘Then you must have drunk and gambled it away,’ said his father in disgust.

Ah yes, that was it, recalled Maan, relieved. Aloud he said, in a pleased tone, as if an intractable problem had, after long endeavour, suddenly been solved: ‘Yes, that is it, Baoji. Drunk – gambled – gone.’ Then the implications of this last word struck him, and he looked shamefaced.

‘Shameless – shameless – you are behaving worse than a depraved zamindar, and I will not have it,’ cried Mahesh Kapoor. He thumped the pink file in front of him. ‘I will not have it, and I will not have you here any longer. Get out of town, get out of Brahmpur. Get out at once. I will not have you here. You are ruining your mother’s peace of mind, and your own life, and my political career, and our family reputation. I give you money, and what do you do with it? – you gamble with it or spend it on whores or on whisky. Is debauchery your only skill? I never thought I would be ashamed of a son of mine. If you want to see someone with real hardships look at your brother-in-law – he never asks for money for his business, let alone ‘for this and for that”. And what of your fiancée? We find a suitable girl from a good family, we arrange a good match for you – and then you chase after Saeeda Bai, whose life and history are an open book.’

‘But I love her,’ said Maan.

‘Love?’ cried his father, his incredulity mixed with rage. ‘Go to bed at once. This is your last night in this house. I want you out by tomorrow. Get out! Go to Banaras or wherever you choose, but get out of Brahmpur. Out!’

Mrs Mahesh Kapoor begged her husband to rescind this drastic command, but to no avail. Maan looked at the two geckos on the ceiling as they scurried about to and fro. Then – suddenly – he got up with great resolution and without assistance, and said: ‘All right. Goodnight! Goodnight! Goodnight! I’ll go! I’ll leave this house tomorrow.’

And he went off to bed without help, even remembering to take off his shoes before he fell off to sleep.





6.24


THE next morning he woke up with a dreadful headache, which, however, cleared up miraculously in a couple of hours. He remembered that his father and he had exchanged words, and waited till the Minister of Revenue had gone to the Assembly before he went to ask his mother what it was they had said to each other. Mrs Mahesh Kapoor was at her wits’ end: her husband had been so incensed last night that he hadn’t slept for hours. Nor had he been able to work, and this had incensed him further. Any suggestion of reconciliation from her had met with an almost incoherently angry rebuke from him. She realized that he was quite serious, that Maan would have to leave.

Hugging her son to her she said: ‘Go back to Banaras, work hard, behave responsibly, win back your father’s heart.’

None of these four clauses appealed particularly to Maan, but he assured his mother that he would not cause trouble at Prem Nivas any longer. He ordered a servant to pack his things. He decided that he would go and stay with Firoz; or, failing that, with Pran; or, failing that, with the Rajkumar and his friends; or, failing that, somewhere else in Brahmpur. He would not leave this beautiful city or forgo the chance to meet the woman he loved because his disapproving, desiccated father told him so.

‘Shall I get your father’s PA to arrange your ticket to Banaras?’ asked Mrs Mahesh Kapoor.

‘No. If I need to, I’ll do that at the station.’

After shaving and bathing he donned a crisp white kurta-pyjama and made his way a little shamefacedly towards Saeeda Bai’s house. If he had been as drunk as his mother seemed to think he had been, he supposed that he must have been equally so outside Saeeda Bai’s gate, where he had a vague sense of having gone.

He arrived at Saeeda Bai’s house. He was admitted. Apparently, he was expected.