A Suitable Boy(513)

14.11


SHE also thought of Kabir, and of his remark at the concert – so long ago, it seemed – about having had a sister till last year. Lata still did not know for certain what he had meant by the remark, but every interpretation that came to her mind made her feel deeply sorry for him.

As it happened, Kabir was thinking of her that night as well, and talking about her with his younger brother. He had come back home exhausted after the rehearsal, and had hardly eaten any dinner, and Hashim was unhappy to see him look so spent.

Kabir was trying to describe the strangeness of the situation with Lata. They acted together, they spent hours in the same room during rehearsals, but they did not talk to each other. Lata seemed to have turned, thought Kabir, from passionate to ice-cold – he could not believe that this was the same girl who had been with him that morning in the boat – in the grey mist in a grey sweater, and with the light of love in her eyes.

No doubt the boat had been rowing against the current of society, upstream towards the Barsaat Mahal; but surely there was a solution. Should they row harder, or agree to drift down-stream? Should they row in a different river or try to change the direction of the river they were in? Should they jump out of the boat and try to swim? Or get a motor or a sail? Or hire a boat-man?

‘Why don’t you simply throw her overboard?’ suggested Hashim.

‘To the crocodiles?’ said Kabir, laughing.

‘Yes,’ said Hashim. ‘She must be a very stupid or unfeeling girl – why does she delight in making you miserable, Bhai-jaan? I don’t think you should waste any time on her. It doesn’t stand to reason.’

‘I know it doesn’t. But, as they say, you can’t reason someone out of what they’ve never been reasoned into in the first place.’

‘But why her?’ said Hashim. ‘There are plenty of girls who are crazy about you – Cubs the Cad.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kabir. ‘It mystifies me. Perhaps it was just that first smile in the bookshop – and I’m still feeding on the meaningless memory of it. I don’t even think it was me she was smiling at. I don’t know. Why was it you whom Saeeda Bai latched onto on Holi evening? I heard all about that.’

Hashim blushed to the roots of his hair. He didn’t suggest a solution.

‘Or look at Abba and Ammi – was there ever a better-matched couple? And now –’

Hashim nodded. ‘I’ll come with you this Thursday. I, well, I couldn’t come yesterday.’

‘Well, good. But, you know, don’t force yourself, Hashim… I don’t know if she notices your absence.’

‘But you said she had a sense about – well, about Samia.’

‘I think she senses it.’

‘Abba pushed her over the edge. He gave her no time, no sympathy, no real companionship?

‘Well Abba is Abba, and it’s pointless complaining about who he is.’ He yawned. ‘I suppose I am tired, after all.’

‘Well, goodnight, Bhai-jaan.’

‘Goodnight, Hashim.’





14.12


JUST over a week after Rakhi came Janamashtami, the day of Krishna’s birth. Mrs Rupa Mehra did not celebrate it (she had mixed feelings about Krishna), but Mrs Mahesh Kapoor did. In the garden at Prem Nivas stood the undistinguished, rough-leafed harsingar tree, the tree that Krishna was reputed to have stolen from Indra’s heaven for the sake of his wife Rukmini. It was not in bloom yet, and would not be for another two months, but Mrs Mahesh Kapoor stood before the tree for a minute just after dawn, imagining it covered with the fragrant, star-shaped, small white-and-orange flowers that lasted only a single night before falling to the lawn beneath. Then she went inside, and summoned Veena and Bhaskar. They were staying at Prem Nivas for a few days, as was old Mrs Tandon. Kedarnath was away in the south, soliciting the next season’s orders at a time when, owing to the moisture in the air, the production of shoes in Brahmpur was slower than usual. Always away, always away, Veena complained to her mother.

Mrs Mahesh Kapoor had chosen a time of day when her husband would not be at home to mock her devotions. She now entered the small room, a mere alcove in the verandah separated by a curtain, that she had set aside for her puja. She placed two small wooden platforms on the floor, on one of which she sat, on one of which she placed a clay lamp, a candle in a low brass stand, a tray, a small bronze bell, a silver bowl half full of water, and a flatter bowl with a small heap of uncooked grains of white rice and some dark red powder. She sat facing a small ledge above a low cupboard. On this ledge stood a number of bronze statuettes of Shiva and other gods and a beautiful portrait of the infant Krishna playing the flute.