So: the business being over, I should tell you that I am not at all well. I have been confined to bed since yesterday and the doctor does not know what is wrong. I yawn all the time and feel hot spots on the soles of my feet! I’m not allowed to move or talk very much. I’m writing this from bed, hence this terrible writing. I hope I get well soon, especially since Father’s leg is also giving him trouble. He is much troubled by the heat as well. He hates ill health and June with an equal passion. All of us are praying that the monsoon is not delayed.
Lastly – if you think I’ve done anything wrong in writing so frankly to you, you must forgive me. I have presumed upon our friendship in writing to you in this way. If I ought not to have, let’s just drop the matter and forget all about it.
I hope to hear from you soon or to see you. A telegram or letter – either would be fine.
Best wishes and everything,
Kalpana
Haresh’s eyes closed once or twice as he read through the letter. It would be interesting to meet this girl, he thought. If the mother was anything to go by, she ought to be attractive too. But before he could give the matter his complete consideration, he yawned, and yawned again, and all thoughts whatsoever were displaced by exhaustion. He was asleep in five minutes; it was a pleasant and dreamless sleep.
9.9
‘A CALL for you, Mr Khanna.’
‘Just coming, Mrs Mason.’
‘It’s a lady’s voice,’ added Mrs Mason helpfully.
‘Thank you, Mrs Mason.’ Haresh went to the drawing room that her three lodgers used in common. No one else was down, but Mrs Mason was engaged in looking from various angles at a flower vase filled with orange cosmos. She was an Anglo-Indian woman of seventy-five, a widow who lived with her middle-aged, unmarried daughter. She liked to keep tabs on her lodgers.
‘Hello. Haresh Khanna.’
‘Hello, Haresh, this is Mrs Mehra, you remember, we met at Kalpana’s in Delhi – Kalpana Gaur’s – and –’
‘Yes,’ said Haresh with a glance at Mrs Mason, who was standing by the vase in a meditative manner, a finger on her lower lip.
‘Do you – er, has Kalpana –’
‘Yes, indeed, welcome to Cawnpore. Kalpana telegrammed. I was expecting you. Both of you –’
Mrs Mason cocked her head to one side.
Haresh passed his hand over his forehead.
‘I cannot talk right now,’ said Haresh. ‘I’m a little late for work. When may I come over? I have the address. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come to the station to meet you, but I didn’t know which train you’d be on.’
‘We were on different trains,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘Can you come at eleven o’clock? I am very much looking forward to seeing you again. And so is Lata.’
‘So am I,’ said Haresh. ‘The time suits me very well. I have to buy some sheep – and then I’ll come over.’ Mrs Mason shifted the vase to another table, then decided that the first one was better.
‘Goodbye, Haresh. So we’ll see you soon?’
‘Yes. Goodbye.’
At the other end of the line Mrs Rupa Mehra turned to Lata and said: ‘He sounded very brusque. He didn’t even address me by name. And Kalpana says he called me Mrs Mehrotra in his letter to her.’ She paused. ‘And he wants to buy some sheep. I’m not sure I heard him right.’ She paused again. ‘But, believe me, he is a very nice boy.’
Haresh kept his bicycle, like his shoes and his comb and his clothes, in excellent condition, but he could not very well cycle down to meet Mrs and Miss Mehra at Mr Kakkar’s house. He stopped by the factory and persuaded the factory manager, Mr Mukherji, to lend him one of the two factory cars. There was a big limousine with a grand and impressive driver and a small, rather rickety car with a driver who talked to all his passengers. He liked Haresh because he had no hierarchical airs, and always chatted to him in a friendly way.
Haresh tried for the beauty but ended up with the beast. ‘Well, it’s a car anyway,’ he said to himself.
He bought the sheepskin for the lining, and asked the supplier to ensure that it got to the factory. Then he stopped for a paan, which was something he always enjoyed. He combed his hair once again in the mirror of the car. And he gave the driver strict instructions that he was not to speak to anyone travelling in the car that day (including Haresh) unless he was spoken to.
Mrs Rupa Mehra was waiting for him with increasing nervousness. She had persuaded Mr Kakkar to join them in order to relieve the awkwardness of a first meeting. Mr Kakkar, both as a man and as an accountant, had been held in great respect by the late Raghubir Mehra, and it reassured Mrs Rupa Mehra that he, not she, would be playing nominal host.