A Suitable Boy(528)

Mahesh Kapoor took a walk around the village in the company of Maan and Baba – as well as Netaji, who forced himself upon them. Mahesh Kapoor appeared to be in an excellent mood; perhaps the respite from Prem Nivas had done him good – or the open air – or Majeed Khan’s singing – or simply the fact that he could see political possibilities in this constituency. They were tailed by a motley gang of village children and a small, black, continually bleating goat that one of the children was driving along the muddy path – a glossy-headed goat, with pointed little horns, thick black eyebrows and mild, sceptical yellow eyes. Everywhere Maan was greeted with friendliness and Mahesh Kapoor with respect.

The great monsoon sky over the twin villages – indeed, over much of the Gangetic plain – was overcast, and people were worried that it might rain the next day, on Bakr-Id itself, and spoil the festivities. Mahesh Kapoor for the most part managed to avoid any political talk. All that sort of thing could be left to electioneering time. Now he simply made sure that he was recognized. He did namasté or adaab as was appropriate, drank tea, and made small talk.

‘Should I go around Sagal as well?’ he asked Baba.

Baba thought for a second. ‘No, don’t do that. Let the web of gossip do its work.’

Finally, having made his rounds, Mahesh Kapoor drove off, but not before thanking Baba and saying to Maan: ‘Perhaps you and Bhaskar are right. At any rate, even if you didn’t learn much Urdu, you weren’t wasting your time.’

Maan could not remember the last time his father had praised him. He was extremely pleased, and more than a little surprised. A couple of tears came to his eyes!

Mahesh Kapoor pretended not to notice, nodded, looked at the sky, and waved in a general way to the gathered populace as the jeep squelched off.





14.22


MAAN slept in the verandah because of the possibility of rain. He woke up late, but did not find Baba louring angrily over him asking him why he hadn’t been to morning prayer.

Instead, Baba said: ‘So you’ve got up, I see. Will you be coming to the Idgah?’

‘Yes,’ said Maan. ‘Why not?’

‘Then you should get ready quickly,’ he said, and patted a fat black goat that was browsing meditatively near the neem tree.

The others in the family had preceded them, and now Baba and Maan walked across the fields from Debaria to Sagal. The Idgah was located in Sagal; it was part of the school near the lake. The sky was still overcast, but there was also an undercast of light that added brilliance to the emerald colour of the transplanted rice. Ducks were swimming in a paddy field, scrabbling for worms and insects. Everything was fresh and refreshing.

All around them, approaching the Idgah from different directions, were men, women and children, all dressed in festive attire – new clothes, or – for those who could not afford them – clothes that were spotlessly clean and freshly pressed. They converged on the school from all the surrounding villages, not merely from Debaria and Sagal. The men were for the most part dressed in white kurta-pyjamas; but some wore lungis, and some allowed themselves coloured kurtas, though of a sober colour. Maan noticed that their headgear varied from white, close-fitting filigreed caps to black, glossy ones. The women and children wore brightly coloured clothes – red, green, yellow, pink, maroon, blue, indigo, purple. Even under the black or dark blue burqas worn by most of the women Maan could see the hems of their coloured saris or salwaars, and the attractive anklets and chappals on feet patterned with bright red henna and splashed with the inescapable mud of the monsoon.

It was while they were walking along the narrow paths that a man, old, thin and hungry-looking, and dressed in nothing but a dirty dhoti, intercepted Baba and, with his hands folded, said in a desperate voice: ‘Khan Sahib, what have I done that you should do this to me and to my family? How can we manage now?’

Baba looked at him, thought for a second, and said: ‘Do you want your legs broken? I don’t care what you say now. Did you think about this when you went to the kanungo to complain?’

He then kept walking towards Sagal. Maan, however, was so troubled by the man’s look – half of hatred born of betrayal, half of supplication – that he stared at his deeply wrinkled face and tried to recall – as he had with the sarangi player – where he had seen him before.

‘What’s the story behind this, Baba? he asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Baba. ‘He wanted to get his grasping fingers on my land, that’s all.’ It was clear from his voice that he wished to dismiss the subject from his mind.

As they approached the school, the sounds of a loudspeaker could be heard repeating the praises of God or else telling the people to get ready for the Id prayers, and not to delay too long at the fair. ‘And, ladies, please make yourselves proper; we are about to start; please hurry up, everyone.’