‘Will you deny me now?
Is’t possible that my deserts to you
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery
Lest that it make me so unsound a man
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
That I have done for you.’
Loudly sobbed Dr Kishen Chand Seth. Astonished necks swivelled swiftly towards him – but to no effect.
‘Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here
I snatched one half out of the jaws of death,
Relieved him with such sanctity of love, –
And to his image, which methought did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.’
By now Dr Kishen Chand Seth was gasping almost asthmatically. He started pounding the floor with his stick to relieve his distress.
Parvati took it from him and said, rather sharply: ‘Kishy! This isn’t Deedar!’ – and this brought him heavily back to earth.
But not much later, the distress of Malvolio – cooped up in an inner chamber and driven from bewilderment almost to madness – evoked further distress, and he began to weep to himself as if his heart would break. Several people around him stopped laughing and turned to look at him.
At this, Parvati handed him back his stick and said, ‘Kishy, Let’s go now. Now! At once!’
But Kishy would have none of it. He managed to control himself at last, and sat out the rest of the play, rapt and almost tearless. His daughter, who had no sympathy whatsoever with Malvolio, had grown increasingly reconciled to the play as he made more and more of a fool of himself and finally came to his undignified exit.
Since the play ended with three happy marriages (and even, Indian-movie-style, concluded with the last of four songs), it was a success in the eyes of Mrs Rupa Mehra who had, miraculously and conveniently, forgotten all about Malvolio and the bed. After the curtain-calls and the appearance of shy Mr Barua to calls of ‘Producer! producer!’ she rushed backstage and hugged Lata, and kissed her, make-up and all, saying: ‘You are my darling daughter. I am so proud of you. And of Malati too. If only your –’
She stopped, and tears came to her eyes. Then she made an effort to control herself, and said, ‘Now get changed quickly, let’s go home. It’s late, and you must be tired after talking so much.’
She had noticed Malvolio hanging around. He had been chatting to a couple of other actors, but had now turned towards Lata and her mother. It seemed that he wanted to greet her, or at any rate to say something.
‘Ma – I can’t; I’ll join you all later,’ said Lata.
‘No!’ Mrs Rupa Mehra put her foot down. ‘You are coming now. You can clean off your make-up at home. Savita and I will help you.’
But whether it was her own new-found thespian confidence or merely a continuation of Olivia’s ‘smooth, discreet, and stable bearing’, Lata simply said, in a quiet voice: ‘I am sorry, Ma, there is a party for the cast, and we are going to celebrate. Malati and I have worked on this play for months, and have made friends whom we won’t see until after the Dussehra break. And please don’t worry, Ma; Mr Barua will make sure I get home safely.’
Mrs Rupa Mehra could not believe her ears.
Now Kabir came up to her and said: ‘Mrs Mehra?’
‘Yes?’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra belligerently, all the more so because Kabir was very obviously good-looking, despite his make-up and curious attire, and Mrs Rupa Mehra in general believed in good looks.
‘Mrs Mehra, I thought I would introduce myself,’ said Kabir. ‘I am Kabir Durrani.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra rather sharply. ‘I have heard about you. I have also met your father. Do you mind if my daughter does not attend the cast party?’
Kabir flushed. ‘No, Mrs Mehra, I –’
‘I want to attend,’ said Lata, giving Kabir a sharp glance. ‘This has nothing to do with anyone else.’
Mrs Rupa Mehra was suddenly tempted to give both of them two tight slaps. But instead she glared at Lata, and at Kabir, and even at Malati for good measure, then turned and left without another word.
15.3
‘WELL, there are many possibilities for riots,’ said Firoz: ‘Shias with Shias, Shias with Sunnis, Hindus with Muslims –’
‘And Hindus with Hindus,’ added Maan.
‘That’s something new in Brahmpur,’ said Firoz.
‘Well, my sister says that the jatavs tried to force themselves onto the local Ramlila Committee this year. They said that at least one of the five swaroops should be selected from among scheduled caste boys. Naturally, no one listened to them at all. But it could spell trouble. I hope you aren’t going to participate in too many events yourself. I don’t want to have to worry about you.’