A Suitable Boy(267)

‘What’s that?’ he said suddenly.

They had reached the top of a gentle rise. About half a mile away lay a beautiful blue pool of water with clearly defined mud banks on each side, and a few white buildings on the side farther away from them.

‘That’s the local school, the madrasa,’ said Rasheed matter-of- factly. ‘It’s actually in the neighbouring village, but all the Muslim children from our village go to it as well.’

‘Do they teach mainly Islamic studies there?’ asked Maan, who had meant to ask about the pool but had been diverted by Rasheed’s reply.

‘No – well, yes, some of course. But they begin by taking-in little children of five or so, and teach them a bit of everything.’

Rasheed paused to survey the landscape, feeling momentarily happy to be back again. He liked Brahmpur because life was less narrow and frustrating there than in the rigid and – in his view – reactionary village, but while in the city he was always rushing around studying or teaching and there was far too much noise everywhere.

He looked for a few seconds at the madrasa where he had been such a difficult pupil that his teachers, at a loss to control him themselves, had regularly reported him to his father - and his grandfather. Then he added: ‘It’s got a good standard of teaching. Even Vilayat Sahib began his studies here before this fish-pond became too small for him. Now that he’s such a big name in archaeology, he contributes books to the school library that none of the children can understand. Several of them have been written by himself. He’s visiting for the week, but he’s very reclusive. Maybe we’ll meet him. Well, here we are. Give me your lota.’

They had reached a high field-divider near a small copse of trees. Rasheed shared his water with Maan. Then he squatted down and said: ‘Anywhere around here is a good place. Take your time. No one will disturb us.’

Maan was embarrassed, but acted as casually as he could. ‘I’ll go over there,’ he said, and wandered off.

I suppose this is the shape of things to come for the next month, he thought disconsolately. I may as well get used to it. I hope there are no snakes or other unpleasant things around. There isn’t very much water either. What if I want to go later in the day? Will I have to walk out here and back in the heat? Better not think about it. And since he was good at avoiding unpleasant thoughts, he turned to other matters.

He began to think how good it would be to swim in the blue pool near the local school. Maan loved swimming, not for the exercise but for the luxury, the tactility of it. In Brahmpur in earlier days, he would go to the lake called Windermere not far from the High Court, and swim in the cordoned-off area reserved for swimmers. He wondered why in the last month he hadn’t swum there – or even thought of doing so.

On the way back to the village he said to himself: I must write to Saeeda Bai. Rasheed has got to help me with my letter.

Aloud he said: ‘Well, I’m ready for my first Urdu lesson under the neem tree when we get back. If you’re not doing anything else, that is.’

‘No, I’m not,’ said Rasheed, pleased. ‘I was afraid that I would have to bring up the subject.’





8.5


WHILE Maan was engaged in his Urdu lesson a crowd of small children gathered around him.

‘They find you very interesting,’ said Rasheed.

‘I can see that,’ said Maan. ‘Why aren’t they at school?’

‘Term begins in two weeks’ time,’ said Rasheed. ‘Now go away,’ he told them. ‘Can’t you see that I’m giving a lesson?’

The children could indeed see that he was giving a lesson, and they were fascinated. They were particularly fascinated by an adult who was having a hard time with the alphabet.

They began to imitate Maan under their breath. ‘Alif-be-pe-te laam-meem-noon,’ they chanted, gathering courage as Maan tried to ignore them.

Maan didn’t mind them at all. He suddenly turned on them and roared as fiercely as an angry lion, and they scattered, terrified. Some of them began giggling from a safe distance, and started to approach again, with tentative steps.

‘Do you think we should go inside?’ said Maan.

Rasheed looked embarrassed. ‘Actually, the fact is that we maintain purdah at home. All your bags are inside, of course, for safe custody.’

‘Oh!’ said Maan, ‘Of course.’ After a while he said, ‘Your father must have thought it very odd of me last night to say I’d sleep on the roof.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ said Rasheed. ‘I should have warned you. But I take everything about my own home for granted.’