A Suitable Boy(562)

The Nawab Sahib, saddened by things and feeling a stranger in the world, phoned Mahesh Kapoor to invite him over for lunch the next day.

‘Please persuade Mrs Mahesh Kapoor to come as well. I will get her food from outside, of course.’

‘I can’t. The mad woman will be fasting for my health tomorrow. It’s Karva Chauth, and she can’t eat from sunrise till moonrise. Or drink a drop of water. If she does I’ll die.’

‘That would be unfortunate, Kapoor Sahib. There has been too much killing and dying of late,’ said the Nawab Sahib. ‘How is Maan, by the way?’ he inquired fondly.

‘Much the same. But recently I’ve stopped telling him three times a day to return to Banaras. There’s something to be said for the boy.’

‘There’s a great deal to be said for the boy,’ said the Nawab Sahib.

‘Oh, it would have been the same the other way around,’ said Mahesh Kapoor. ‘Anyway, I’ve been thinking about my son’s advice regarding constituencies. And your advice, of course, as well.’

‘And about parties too, I hope.’

There was a long silence on the line.

‘Yes, well, I’ve decided to rejoin the Congress. You’re the first to know,’ said Mahesh Kapoor.

The Nawab Sahib sounded pleased. ‘Fight from Baitar, Kapoor Sahib,’ he said. ‘Fight from Baitar. You’ll win, Inshallah – and with the help of your friends.’

‘Let’s see, let’s see.’

‘So you’ll come for lunch tomorrow?’

‘Yes, yes. What’s the occasion?’

‘No occasion. Just do me the favour of sitting silently through the meal and hearing me complain about how much better things were in the old days.’

‘All right.’

‘Give my greetings to Maan’s mother,” said the Nawab Sahib. He paused. It would have been more proper to say ‘Pran’s mother’ or even ‘Veena’s mother’. He stroked his beard, then continued: ‘But, Kapoor Sahib, is it a sensible idea for her to fast in her present state of health?’

‘Sensible!’ was Mahesh Kapoor’s response. ‘Sensible! My dear Nawab Sahib, you are talking a language that is foreign to her.’





15.18


THIS language was also presumably foreign to Mrs Rupa Mehra, who stopped knitting the baby’s booties on the day of Karva Chauth. Indeed, she locked up her knitting needles together with any sewing and darning needles that were lying about the house. Her reason was simple. Savita was fasting until moonrise for her husband’s health and longevity, and touching a needle, even inadvertently, on that day would be disastrous.

One year an unfortunate young woman, famished during her fast, was persuaded by her anxious brothers that the moon had risen when all they had done was to light a fire behind a tree to simulate the moonglow. She had eaten a little before she had realized the trick, and soon enough the news was brought to her of her husband’s sudden death. He had been pierced through and through by thousands of needles. By performing many austerities and making many offerings to the goddesses, the young widow had finally extracted their promise that if she kept the fast properly the next year her husband would return to life. Each day for the whole year she removed the needles one by one from her husband’s lifeless body. The very last one, however, was removed on the day’ of Karva Chauth itself by a maidservant just as her master came back to life. Since she was the first woman he saw after opening his eyes, he believed that it was through her pains that he had revived. He had no choice but to discard his wife and marry her. Needles on Karva Chauth were therefore fearfully inauspicious: touch a needle and lose a husband.

What Savita, fortified in logic by law-books and grounded in reality by her baby, thought of all this, was not obvious. But she observed Karva Chauth to the letter, even going to the extent of first viewing the rising moon through a sieve.

The Sahib and Memsahib of Calcutta, on the other hand, considered Karva Chauth a signal idiocy, and were unmoved by Mrs Rupa Mehra’s frantic implorations that Meenakshi – even if Brahmo by family – should observe it. ‘Really, Arun,’ said Meenakshi. ‘Your mother does go on about things.’

One by one the Hindu festivals fell, some observed fervently, some lukewarmly, some merely noted, some entirely ignored. On five consecutive days around the end of October came Dhanteras, Hanuman Jayanti, Divali, Annakutam, and Bhai Duj. The day immediately following was observed most religiously by Pran, who kept his ear to the radio for hours: it was the first day of the first Test Match of the cricket season, played in Delhi against a visiting English side.