A Suitable Boy(188)

Bibbo looked unconvincingly penitent. Saeeda Bai went on: ‘Find out what is growing in the kitchen garden and come back after five minutes.’

When Bibbo had disappeared, Saeeda Bai said to Tasneem: ‘So he’s sent you to speak to me, has he?’

‘No,’ said Tasneem. ‘I came myself. I thought he needed help.’

‘You’re sure he hasn’t been misbehaving?’

Tasneem shook her head.

‘Maybe he can write a ghazal or two for me to sing,’ said Saeeda Bai after a pause. ‘I’ll have to put him to some sort of work. Provisionally, at least.’ She applied a drop of perfume. ‘I suppose his hand works well enough to allow him to write?’

‘Yes,’ said Tasneem happily.

‘Then let’s leave it at that,’ said Saeeda Bai.

But in her mind she was thinking about a permanent replacement. She knew she couldn’t support Ishaq endlessly – or till some indefinite time when his hands decided to behave.

‘Thank you, Apa,’ said Tasneem, smiling.

‘Don’t thank me,’ said Saeeda Bai crossly. ‘I am used to taking all the world’s troubles onto my own head. Now I’ll have to find a sarangi player till your Ishaq Bhai is capable of wrestling with his sarangi again, and I also have to find someone to teach you Arabic –’

‘Oh, no, no,’ said Tasneem quickly, ‘you needn’t do that.’

‘I needn’t do that?’ said Saeeda Bai, turning around to face not Tasneem’s image but Tasneem herself. ‘I thought you enjoyed your Arabic lessons.’

Bibbo had bounced back into the room again. Saeeda Bai looked at her impatiently and cried, ‘Yes, yes, Bibbo? What is it? I told you to come back after five minutes.’

‘But I‘ve found out what’s ripe in the back garden,’ said Bibbo enthusiastically.

‘All right, all right,’ said Saeeda Bai, defeated. ‘What is there apart from ladies’ fingers? Has the karela begun?’

‘Yes, Begum Sahiba, and there is even a pumpkin.’

‘Well, then, tell the cook to make kababs as usual – shami kababs – and some vegetable of her choice – and let her make mutton with karela as well.’

Tasneem made a slight grimace, which was not lost on Saeeda Bai.

‘If you find the karela too bitter, you don’t have to eat it,’ she said in an impatient voice. ‘No one is forcing you. I work my heart out to keep you in comfort, and you don’t appreciate it. And oh yes,’ she said, turning to Bibbo again, ‘let’s have some phirni afterwards.’

‘But there’s so little sugar left from our ration,’ cried Bibbo.

‘Get it on the black market,’ said Saeeda Bai. ‘Bilgrami Sahib is very fond of phirni.’

Then she dismissed both Tasneem and Bibbo, and continued with her toilette in peace.

The guest whom she was expecting that evening was an old friend. He was a doctor, a general practitioner about ten years older than her, good-looking and cultivated. He was unmarried, and had proposed to her a number of times. Though at one stage he had been a client, he was now a friend. She felt no passion for him, but was grateful that he was always there when she needed him. She had not seen him for about three months now, and that was why she had invited him over this evening. He was bound to propose to her again, and this would cheer her up. Her refusal, being equally inevitable, would not upset him unduly.

She looked around the room, and her eyes fell on the framed picture of the woman looking out through an archway into a mysterious garden.

By now, she thought, Dagh Sahib will have reached his destination. I did not really want to send him off, but I did. He did not really want to go, but he did. Well, it is all for the best.

Dagh Sahib, however, would not have agreed with this assessment.





6.27


ISHAQ KHAN waited for Ustad Majeed Khan not far from his house. When he came out, carrying a small string bag in his hand, walking gravely along, Ishaq followed him at a distance. He turned towards Tarbuz ka Bazaar, past the road leading to the mosque, then into the comparatively open area of the local vegetable market. He moved from stall to stall to see if there was something that interested him. It was good to see tomatoes still plentiful and at a tolerable price so late in the season. Besides, they made the market look more cheerful. It was a pity that the season for spinach was almost over; it was one of his favourite vegetables. And carrots, cauliflowers, cabbages, all were virtually gone till next winter. Even those few that were available were dry, dingy, and dear, and had none of the flavour of their peak.

It was with thoughts such as these that the maestro was occupied that morning when he heard a voice say, respectfully :