‘Why do you insist on that ‘Bhai”?’ said Ishaq.
Tasneem was silent.
‘All right, call me brother if you wish – just get out of that tearful mood.’
‘I can’t,’ said Tasneem. ‘I’m feeling sad.’
‘Poor Tasneem. He’ll be back,’ said Ishaq, trying not to sound anything but sympathetic.
‘I wasn’t thinking of him,’ said Tasneem quickly. ‘I was thinking that I’ll have nothing useful to do now except read novels and cut vegetables. Nothing useful to learn –’
‘Well, you could teach, even if not learn,’ said Ishaq Khan, attempting to sound bright.
‘Teach?’
‘Teach Miya Mitthu how to speak. The first few months of life are very important in the education of a parakeet.’
Tasneem brightened up for a second. Then she said: ‘Apa has appropriated my parakeet. The cage is always in her room, seldom in mine.’ She sighed. ‘It seems,’ she added under her breath, ‘that everything of mine becomes hers.’
‘I’ll get it,’ said Ishaq Khan gallantly.
‘Oh, you mustn’t,’ said Tasneem. ‘Your hands –’
‘Oh, I’m not as crippled as all that.’
‘But it must be bad. Whenever I see you practising, I can see how painful it is from your face.’
‘What if it is?’ said Ishaq Khan. ‘I have to play and I have to practise.’
‘Why don’t you show it to a doctor?’
‘It’ll go away.’
‘Still – there’s no harm in having it seen.’
‘All right,’ said Ishaq with a smile. ‘I will, because you’ve asked me to.’
Sometimes when Ishaq accompanied Saeeda Bai these days it was all he could do not to cry out in pain. This trouble in his wrists had grown worse. What was strange was that it now affected both his wrists, despite the fact that his two hands – the right on the bow and the left on the strings – performed very different functions.
Since his livelihood and that of the younger brothers whom he supported depended on his hands, he was extremely anxious. As for the transfer of his brother-in-law: Ishaq had not dared to try to get an interview with the Station Director – who would certainly have heard about what had happened in the canteen and who would have been very unfavourably disposed towards him, especially if the great Ustad himself had made it a point to express his displeasure.
Ishaq Khan remembered his father saying to him, ‘Practise at least four hours every day. Clerks push their pens in offices for longer than that, and you cannot insult your art by offering less.’ Ishaq’s father would sometimes – in the middle of a conversation – take Ishaq’s left hand and look at it carefully; if the string-abraded grooves in the fingernails showed signs of recent wear, he would say, ‘Good.’ Otherwise he would merely continue with the conversation, not visibly but palpably disappointed. Of late, because of the sometimes unbearable pain in the tendons of his wrists, Ishaq Khan had been unable to practise for more than an hour or two a day. But the moment the pain let up he increased the regimen.
Sometimes it was difficult to concentrate on other matters. Lifting a cage, stirring his tea, opening a door, every action reminded him of his hands. He could turn to no one for help. If he told Saeeda Bai how painful it had become to accompany her, especially in fast passages, would he be able to blame her if she looked for someone else?
‘It is not sensible to practise so much. You should rest and use some balm,’ murmured Tasneem.
‘Do you think I don’t want to rest – do you think it’s easier for me to practise –’
‘But you must use proper medicine: it is very unwise not to,’ said Tasneem.
‘Go and get some for me, then –’ said Ishaq Khan with sudden and uncharacteristic sharpness. ‘Everyone sympathizes, everyone advises, no one helps. Go – go –’
He stopped dead, and covered his eyes with his right hand. He did not want to open them.
He imagined Tasneem’s startled face, her deer-like eyes starting with tears. If pain has made me so selfish, he thought, I will have to rest and restore myself, even if it means risking my work.
Aloud, after he had collected himself, he said : ‘Tasneem, you will have to help me. Talk to your sister and tell her what I can’t.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll speak to her later. I cannot find other work in my present state. She will have to keep me on even if I cannot play for a while.’
Tasneem said, ‘Yes.’ Her voice betrayed that she was, as he had thought, crying silently.