A Suitable Boy(275)

‘Why didn’t he come to us if he needed money?’ said Rasheed, distressed.

‘You should ask your father that,’ said Kachheru. ‘He went to him, I believe, a couple of times. But after that your father became annoyed and told him not to fling good money after bad. But he helped with the funeral.’

‘I see. I see. What can one do? God disposes –’ Rasheed mumbled a few consolatory words.

After they left, Maan could see that Rasheed was very upset. Neither said anything for a while. Then Rasheed said: ‘We are tied to earth by such fine threads. And there is so much injustice – so much – it drives me mad. And if you think this village is bad, it’s because you don’t know Sagal. There is a poor man there who – God forgive them – has been destroyed and left to die by his own family. And look at that old man and woman,’ said Rasheed, pointing out a couple who were sitting outside their hut in rags, begging. ‘They have been turned out by their children, all of whom are doing tolerably well.’

Maan looked at them. They were starving and filthy, in a pitiable state. Maan gave them a few annas. They stared at the money.

‘They are destitute. They don’t have enough to eat, but their children will not help them,’ Rasheed went on. ‘Each claims it is the other’s responsibility, or the responsibility of no one at all.’

‘Whom do the children work for?’ asked Maan.

‘For us,’ said Rasheed. ‘For us. The great and good of the village.’

‘Why don’t you tell them that this can’t go on?’ said Maan. ‘That they can’t treat their parents this way? Surely you can tell them that they must put their house in order if they want to work for you?’

‘Ah, now that is a good question,’ said Rasheed. ‘But it is a question for my esteemed father and grandfather, not for me,’ he added bitterly.





8.9


MAAN lay down on his string-bed and stared upwards into what, in contrast with the previous night, was a cloudy sky. No solution appeared to him from either cloud or constellation as to how to get his letter written. Once again he thought of his father with annoyance.

Nearby footsteps made him lean on one elbow and look towards the source of the sound. Rasheed’s huge bear-like uncle and his companion the guppi were approaching.

‘Salaam aleikum.’

‘Wa aleikum salaam,’ replied Maan.

‘Everything going fine?’

‘Thanks to your prayers,’ replied Maan. ‘And you? Where are you coming from?’

‘I went to meet my friends in the other village,’ said Rasheed’s uncle. ‘And my friend came along. Now I am going inside the house, but I will have to leave my friend here with you. You don’t mind?’

‘Of course not,’ lied Maan, who wanted no company, least of all the guppi’s. But since he didn’t have a room, he didn’t have a door.

Rasheed’s uncle, noticing a number of charpoys scattered in the outer courtyard, picked up one under each huge arm and put them on their sides along the verandah wall. ‘It looks like rain,’ he explained. ‘And anyway, if they’re on their sides, the hens won’t come and make a mess of them. Where is Rasheed, by the way?’

‘Inside,’ said Maan.

Rasheed’s uncle belched, stroked his bristly beard of stubble, then went on in a friendly manner: ‘You know, he ran away from home and stayed with me a couple of times. He was always very sharp at school, very quarrelsome. It was the same when he went to Banaras for further studies. Religious studies! But since he’s been at Brahmpur, there’s been a change and he’s become a good deal more sober. Or perhaps it began in Banaras.’ He thought about the matter for a second. ‘It often happens this way,’ he said. ‘But he doesn’t see eye to eye with his people. And there’ll be trouble. He sees injustice everywhere; he doesn’t pause to understand things in their surroundings. You’re his friend – you should talk to him. Well, I’ll be going in.’

Left with the guppi, Maan did not know what to say, but he was not faced with the problem for long. The guppi, settling himself comfortably on the other charpoy, said: ‘What beauty are you dreaming of?’

Maan was both startled and slightly annoyed.

‘You know, I’ll show you Bombay,’ said the guppi. ‘You should come with me.’ At the word ‘Bombay’ excitement once again crept into his voice.

‘There are enough beauties there to satisfy all the love-sick young gentlemen of the universe. Tobacco?’

Maan shook his head.

‘I have a first-class house there,’ continued the guppi. ‘It has a fan. A view. There’s no heat like this. I’ll show you the Irani tea-shops. I’ll show you Chowpatty Beach. For four annas of roasted peanuts you can see the world. Munch on them as you walk along and admire the view: the waves, the nymphs, the farishtas, all the beautiful women swimming so shamelessly in the ocean. You can join them…’