‘Now what’s all this about?’ asked Malati as soon as they got out of the door. ‘Why did you want to leave?’
Lata lowered her voice for no very good reason.
‘They were discussing me and a man whom my mother made me meet in Kanpur just as if I wasn’t there, and even Savita didn’t object.’
‘I’m not sure I would have objected either,’ said Malati. ‘What were they saying?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Lata. ‘I’ve had enough of myself for a while, and I want to hear something different. What’s your news?’
‘What sort of news do you want?’ asked Malati. ‘Intellectual, physical, political, spiritual, or romantic?’
Lata considered the last two, then thought of Malati’s comment about the lake, the hills, and a night raag. ‘Romantic,’ she said.
‘That’s a bad choice,’ said Malati. ‘You should get every idea of romance out of your head. But, well – I had a romantic encounter in Nainital. Except, well –’ She paused.
‘Except what?’ asked Lata.
‘Except, well, it wasn’t really. Anyway, I’ll tell you what happened and you decide for yourself.’
‘All right.’
‘You know my sister, my elder sister, the one who keeps kidnapping us?’
‘Yes – I haven’t met her, but the one who was married at fifteen to the young zamindar and lives near Bareilly.’
‘That’s right,’ said Malati. ‘Near Agra, actually. Anyway, they were having a holiday in Nainital, so I went along as well. And so did my three younger sisters and our cousins and so on. Everyone was given a rupee a day as pocket money, and this was quite enough to fill almost the whole day with one activity or another. I’d had a hard term, and I was eager to get Brahmpur out of my head. Like you, I suppose.’ She put her arm around Lata’s shoulder.
‘At any rate, I would ride in the morning – it’s only four annas an hour to hire a horse – and I’d also row, and skate at the rink – I’d sometimes skate twice a day and forget to go home for lunch. The rest of the family were involved in their own activities. Now I bet you can’t imagine what happened.’
‘You had a fall, and some young gallant at the rink rescued you,’ said Lata.
‘No,’ said Malati. ‘I look too self-assured for any Galahads to come chasing after me.’
Lata reflected that this was quite likely. Men did fall for her friend at a rapid rate, it was true, but they would probably fear to pick her up if she fell. Malati’s attitude towards most men was that they were beneath her attention.
Malati continued: ‘As it happens, I did have a fall or two while skating, but I got up on my own. No, what happened was quite different. I began to notice that a middle-aged man was following me around. Every morning when I was out rowing, I’d see him looking at me from the shore. Sometimes he’d get a boat out himself. He’d even appear at the rink.’
‘Horrible!’ said Lata, her thoughts immediately turning to her uncle in Lucknow, Mr Sahgal.
‘Well, no, not really, Lata, I wasn’t disconcerted at first, just puzzled. He didn’t come up to me or, well, approach me or anything. But after a while it began to trouble me. So I went up to him.’
‘You went up to him?’ asked Lata. This was asking for trouble, clearly. ‘That was very adventurous.’
‘Yes, and I said, “You’ve been following me around. Is some thing the matter? Would you like to say something to me?” He said, “Well, I’m on holiday, and I’m staying at such-and-such a hotel in room number so-and-so; would you come and have tea with me this afternoon?” I was surprised, but he looked pleasant and sounded decent, and so I agreed.’
Lata was looking astonished, even shocked. Malati noticed this with pleasure.
‘Well,’ continued Malati, ‘at tea he told me that he had indeed been following me around, and for longer than I had realized. Don’t look so thunderstruck, Lata, it’s unsettling. Anyway, he told me he had seen me one day when he was out rowing, and, being on holiday with nothing better to do, he had followed me. Having rowed, I hired a horse and went for a ride. Later I skated. I did not seem to care, or so it seemed to him, about eating, about resting, about anything except the activity I was engaged in. He decided that he liked me very much. Don’t look so disgusted, it’s all true. He had five sons, he said, and he thought that I would make one of them a wonderful match. They lived in Allahabad. If I was ever passing that way, would I agree to meet them? Oh, incidentally, when we were making small talk, it turned out that he had known my family in Meerut many years ago, even before my father’s death.’