‘Yes,’ said Maan, agitated with concern for Bhaskar. ‘This must be my father’s doing. He must have thought I’d come straight back to Brahmpur if I heard. Well, I would have –’ he began vehemently, then stopped. ‘Firoz, you should have written and told me.’
‘I didn’t think of it,’ said Firoz. ‘I’m really sorry. I assumed that your family would have told you. I couldn’t have imagined that they wouldn’t. It isn’t as if it was a family secret. All of us knew.’
A sudden, irrelevant thought struck Maan again. ‘You’re not a secret admirer of Saeeda Bai’s, are you?’ he asked his friend.
‘Oh no,’ said Firoz, puzzled. ‘Not that I don’t admire her.’
‘Good,’ said Maan, relieved. ‘I couldn’t compete with a Nawabzada. Oh, er, bad luck about the zamindari case – I heard the news and thought of you. Hmm, will you lend me a walking-stick? I feel like twirling something this evening. Oh, and some cologne. And a clean kurta-pyjama. Civilization is hard on those who’ve reverted to savagery.’
‘My clothes won’t fit you. Your shoulders are too broad.’
‘Imtiaz’s would. They did at the Fort.’
‘So they would,’ said Firoz. ‘I’ll bring them up to your room. And a half-bottle of whisky.’
‘Thanks,’ said Maan, ruffling his friend’s hair. ‘Perhaps civilization isn’t so hard after all.’
12.15
WHILE Maan was soaking himself in the delicious sensations of a hot bath, he kept imagining the even more delicious sensations that he was soon to feel in the arms of his beloved. He wrapped himself in the towelled robe that had been provided, and walked into the bedroom.
There, however, more sober thoughts presented themselves. He thought of his nephew, and how hurt he would be if he heard that his Maan Maama had been in town and had not come immediately to see him. Rather glumly Maan decided that he would have to visit Bhaskar first. He poured himself a whisky, drank it quickly, poured another, drank that equally quickly, and took the rest of the half-bottle with him in the pocket of Imtiaz’s kurta.
Instead of hirihg a tonga, he decided to walk to Prem Nivas, where Firoz had told him Bhaskar would be.
Walking in Pasand Bagh was a pleasure. Maan noticed for the first time in his life that there were even streetlamps on most streets. Just walking on solid roads after the mud and dirt of country tracks was a privilege. He tapped and twirled Firoz’s walking-stick. After a while, however, he didn’t feel much like it. He became rather depressed at the thought of having to face his father again. And his mother too in a way: she would act as a damper on the anticipated excitement of the evening. She would tell him to stay for dinner. She would ask him all about the villages and the state of his health. Maan’s steps became slightly slower and more uncertain. Perhaps it was also the whisky taking effect. He had had very little to drink for weeks.
When he came to a fork in the road, not far from his destination, he looked up at the stars for a bit of guidance. Then he tapped his stick on the pavement, and turned first this way, then that. He looked very undecided. Finally, he took the right-hand fork to Saeeda Bai’s rather than the road to Prem Nivas. This cheered him up immediately.
It’s much better this way, he decided. If I go home, they’ll insist I stay for dinner, and I just can’t. And Bhaskar won’t really mind. He only cares if I don’t give him sums. And how can I give him sums when my mind’s distracted? Anyway, he’s not well, he shouldn’t stay up late, he’s probably in bed already. No, it’s much better this way. I’ll visit him first thing tomorrow. He won’t be angry with me.
After a while he said to himself: And besides, Saeeda Bai would never forgive me if she heard I was in Brahmpur and didn’t come to see her before anyone else. I can imagine how hard it’s been for her while I’ve been away. This will be a wonderful reunion – she’ll be astonished to see me. And at the anticipation of their meeting he felt a pleasant weakness in his limbs.
Soon he was standing not far from the house, under a large neem tree, savouring in advance the delights to come. A thought occurred to him: I haven’t brought a gift along with me.
But Maan, not being one to savour anticipations for long, decided after half a minute that he’d waited long enough to collect himself. I’m my own gift, as she is hers! he said cheerfully to himself, and, first tapping and then waving his cane, he walked the remaining distance to the gate.
‘Phool Singh!’ he greeted the watchman in a loud voice.