‘If he listens to anyone, it’ll be to you,’ said Malati, getting up and putting her hand on Savita’s shoulder. ‘I think he’s had a bit of a shock; now is probably the best time to talk to him. He has to think of you and the baby too, not only his duties. Now I’ll just go back and see that he comes home immediately, and by rickshaw.’
Mrs Rupa Mehra would have marched into the English Department herself to rescue Pran if it hadn’t meant leaving Savita behind. Savita for her part was wondering what she could tell her husband that might have greater success than her pleas had had so far. Pran had a stubborn streak and an absurd sense of duty, and might insist on continuing to stand on the strength of them.
12.12
HIS stubborn streak was being exercised at this very moment. Pran was alone in the staff room with Professor Mishra, who had discovered, though not much to his alarm, that the scene he had happened upon when passing the door of the classroom was not an enactment of Shakespeare, but, rather, real life. He liked to be well informed about things, and he asked the students a few questions. He settled the visitor he had been escorting in the office of the Head of Department, and went off to the staff room.
The bell had just rung, and Pran’s colleagues were unsure whether or not to leave Pran to go to their own lectures, when Professor Mishra entered, smiled at them and at Pran, and said: ‘Leave the patient to me. I shall cater to his every whim. How are you, dear boy? I have asked the peon to get you some tea.’
Pran nodded gratefully. ‘Thank you, Professor Mishra. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sure I could have continued to lecture, but my students, you know –’
Professor Mishra placed his vast, pallid arm on Pran’s. ‘But your students are so protective of you, so protective,’ he said. ‘That is one of the joys of teaching – contact with one’s students. To inspire them in a lecture, to make them think, after forty-five minutes, that the world has changed for them, that it is somehow different from one bell to the next. To open out for them the heart of a poem – ah! Someone said to me the other day that they considered me to be one of those teachers whose lectures students would never forget – a great teacher like Deb or Dustoor or Khaliluddin Ahmed. I was, he said, a presence at the lectern. I was just a moment ago telling Professor Jaikumar of Madras University, whom I was escorting around our department, that it was a compliment I would never forget. Ah, but my dear fellow, I should be talking of your students, not my own. Many of them were intrigued by that charming and extremely competent girl who took charge a little while ago. Who was she? Had you ever seen her before?’
‘Malati Trivedi,’ said Pran.
‘It’s none of my business, I know,’ continued Professor Mishra, ‘but when she asked for permission to attend, what reason did she give? It’s always gratifying when one’s fame spreads beyond one’s own department. I believe I’ve seen her somewhere before.’
‘I can’t imagine where,’ said Pran. Then he suddenly remembered with a shock that it was probably at the dreadful submersion of Holi.
‘I’m sorry, Professor Mishra, I didn’t get your question,’ said Pran, who was finding it hard to concentrate. The image of Professor Mishra floundering in a tub of pink water was getting the better of him.
‘Oh, not to worry, not to worry. Time enough for all that later,’ said Professor Mishra, puzzled by Pran’s look of anxiety and – what almost appeared to be – amusement. ‘Ah, here’s the tea.’ The subservient peon moved the tray backwards and forwards in deference to his imagined wishes, and Professor Mishra continued: ‘But you know, I have been feeling for some time that these duties of yours really are rather onerous. It’s difficult to shrug some of them off, of course. University duties, for example. I heard just this morning that the Raja of Marh’s son had been to see you yesterday in connection with this unfortunate fracas he got into. Now of course, if anything were done to him, it would outrage the Raja himself, rather an excitable sort of man, wouldn’t you say? One makes enemies on a committee such as the one you sit on. But then, the acceptance of power is never without its personal costs, and one must do one’s duty. “Stern daughter of the voice of God!” Only, of course, it cannot fail to tell upon one’s teaching.’
Pran nodded.
‘Departmental duties, of course, are another matter entirely,’ continued Professor Mishra. ‘I have decided that if you wish to be released from the syllabus committee…’ Pran shook his head. Professor Mishra continued: ‘Some of my colleagues on the Academic Council have told me frankly that they find your recommendations – our recommendations, I mean – quite untenable. Joyce, you know – a man of most peculiar habits.’ He looked at Pran’s face and saw that he was making no headway at all.