He waited for two whole days for a reply from Saeeda Bai to his note. He had given his address as Baitar House. None came.
Tiring of his own iffing and butting, and being eager for action of some kind, Maan borrowed some more money from Firoz, sent a servant to get his ticket for the next morning’s train to Banaras, and prepared to spend a despondent and eventless last evening.
First, he visited the hospital, and instructed Savita to hold off having her baby for at least two days. Savita laughed, and promised to do her best.
Then he had dinner with Firoz. Zainab’s husband was present at dinner – he had come alone to Brahmpur for the meeting of some waqf committee or other – and Maan could sense that Firoz was no more than polite to him. Maan could not understand this. Zainab’s husband appeared to be a fairly cultivated if rather tremulous man. He kept insisting that he was a peasant at heart, and backing up this assertion with Persian couplets. The Nawab Sahib dined on his own.
Finally, Maan penned another note in Urdu, and gave it to Saeeda Bai’s watchman to deliver. Surely Saeeda Bai should tell him what his crime was – and if she couldn’t bring herself to forgive him at least she could respond to his letters.
‘Please give her this at once – and say that I am going away.’ Maan, sensing the drama of this last phrase, sighed deeply.
The watchman knocked at the door, and Bibbo came out.
‘Bibbo –’ said Maan, gesturing with the ivory-topped cane.
But Bibbo appeared rather scared, and refused to look him in the face. What’s the matter with her? thought Maan. She was happy enough to kiss me the last time I was here.
A few minutes later Bibbo came out and said: ‘The Begum Sahiba instructs me to admit you.’
‘Bibbo!’ said Maan, both delighted by his admittance, and hurt by the formal, even lifeless, tone of its announcement. He was so pleased that he wanted to hug her, but by turning half away from him when they walked up the stairs, she made it clear that there was no question of that.
‘You keep repeating my name, like that parakeet,’ said Bibbo. ‘All I get for my kindness to people is trouble.’
‘But you got a kiss from me last time!’ laughed Maan.
Bibbo clearly did not want to be reminded of that. She pouted, Maan thought charmingly.
Saeeda Bai was in a good mood. She, Motu Chand, and an older sarangi player, were sitting in her outer chamber, gossiping. Ustad Majeed Khan had recently performed in Banaras, and had been backed up by Ishaq Khan. Ishaq Khan had done well; at all events, he had not shamed his teacher.
‘I’m going to Banaras myself,’ announced Maan, who had heard the tail end of the conversation.
‘And why must the huntsman take himself away from the tame gazelle that, rejoicing, offers itself to his sight?’ asked Saeeda Bai, twirling her hand and blinding Maan with a sudden flash of gem-reflected light.
This was an unlikely description of Saeeda Bai, considering how she had avoided him for the last few days. Maan looked at her eyes, but could read nothing there but the most patent sincerity. Instantly he saw that he had misjudged her: she was as delightful as she had always been, and he was an unperceptive dolt.
Saeeda Bai was exceptionally good to him all evening; it almost appeared as if she were wooing him, not he her. She begged him to forgive her lack of courtesy, as she put it, on the earlier occasion. Many things had conspired to upset her that day. Dagh Sahib should excuse the ignorant saki who had, in her excessive nervousness, poured wine over his innocent hands.
She sang for him like one inspired. And then she sent the musicians away.
13.8
THE next morning, Maan got to the station just in time to catch the train to Banaras. He was almost puppy-like with happiness. Even the fact that each puff of steam and each circuit of the wheels was taking him further away from Brahmpur did not diminish his pleasure. He smiled to himself from time to time at the memory of the previous evening, with all its endearments and witticisms, all its suspense and fulfilment.
When he got to Banaras, Maan discovered that those who owed him money for goods already received were not delighted to see him. They swore that they had no money at present, that they were moving heaven and earth to pay off their debts, of which his was just one, that the market was moving slowly, that by winter – or next spring at the latest – they envisaged no problem of repayment at all.
Nor did those whose tales of misfortune had led Maan to open his purse, now open their purses to him. One young man looked well-dressed enough, and appeared to be flourishing. He invited Maan to eat with him in a good restaurant, so that he could explain matters to him at leisure. Maan ended up paying for the meal.