A Suitable Boy(60)

The baby parakeet sat quite still on the table-top near the red lacquer vase; his translucent gullet worked up and down.

Saeeda Bai, roused from her afternoon nap, came into the room, and in a surprised voice, with something of a stern edge, said: ‘Ishaq – what’s all this? Is one not to be permitted to rest even in the afternoon?’ Then her eyes alighted on the baby parakeet, and she clicked her tongue in irritation.

‘No – no more birds in this house. That miserable myna of my mother’s caused me enough trouble.’ She paused, then added: ‘One singer is enough in any establishment. Get rid of it.’





2.16


NO ONE spoke. After a while Saeeda Bai broke the silence. ‘Ishaq, you are here early,’ she said.

Ishaq looked guilty. Tasneem looked down with half a sob. The parakeet made a feeble attempt to move. Saeeda Bai, looking from one to the other, suddenly said: ‘Where is your sarangi anyway?’

Ishaq realized he had not even brought it. He flushed.

‘I forgot. I was thinking of the parakeet.’

‘Well?’

‘Of course I’ll go and get it immediately.’

‘The Raja of Marh has sent word he will be coming this evening.’

‘I’m just going,’ said Ishaq. Then he added, looking at Tasneem, ‘Shall I take the parakeet?’

‘No, no –’ said Saeeda Bai, ‘why should you want to take it? Just get your sarangi. And don’t be all day about it.’

Ishaq left hurriedly.

Tasneem, who had been close to tears, looked gratefully at her sister. Saeeda Bai, however, was far away. The business of the bird had woken her up from a haunting and peculiar dream involving the death of her mother and her own earlier life - and when Ishaq left, its atmosphere of dread and even guilt had surged back over her.

Tasneem, noticing her sister suddenly sad, held her hand.

‘What’s the matter, Apa?’ she asked, using the term of endearment and respect she always used for her elder sister.

Saeeda Bai began to sob, and hugged Tasneem to her, kissing her forehead and cheeks.

‘You are the only thing I care for in the world,’ she said. ‘May God keep you happy…’

Tasneem hugged her and said, ‘Why, Apa, why are you crying? Why are you so overwrought? Is it Ammi-jaan’s grave you are thinking of?’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Saeeda Bai quickly, and turned away. ‘Now go inside, get the cage lying in Ammi-jaan’s old room. Polish it and bring it here. And soak some daal – some chané ki daal – for him to eat later.’

Tasneem went in towards the kitchen. Saeeda Bai sat down, looking a bit dazed. Then she held the small parakeet in her hands to keep him warm. She was sitting like this when the maidservant came in to announce that someone had arrived from the Nawab Sahib’s place, and was waiting outside.

Saeeda Bai pulled herself together and dried her eyes. ‘Let him in,’ she said.

But when Firoz walked in, handsome and smiling, gripping his elegant walking-stick lightly in his right hand, she gave a startled gasp.

‘You?’

‘Yes,’ said Firoz. ‘I‘ve brought an envelope from my father.’

‘You‘ve come late… I mean, he usually sends someone in the morning,’ murmured Saeeda Bai, trying to still the confusion in her mind. ‘Please sit down, please sit down.’

Until now the Nawab Sahib had sent a servant with the monthly envelope. For the last two months, Saeeda Bai remembered it had been just a couple of days after her period. And this month too, of course…

Her thoughts were interrupted by Firoz, who said: ‘I happened to bump into my father’s private secretary, who was coming –’

‘Yes, yes.’ Saeeda Bai looked upset. Firoz wondered why his appearance should have distressed her so much. That many years ago there must have been something between the Nawab Sahib and Saeeda Bai’s mother – and that his father continued to send a little something each month to support the family – surely there was nothing in this to cause her such agitation. Then he realized that she must have been upset even before his arrival by something quite different.

I have come at a bad time, he thought, and decided to go.

Tasneem walked in with the copper birdcage and, seeing him, suddenly stopped.

They looked at each other. For Tasneem, Firoz was just another handsome admirer of her sister’s – but startlingly so. She lowered her eyes quickly, then looked at him again.

She stood there with her yellow dupatta, the birdcage in her right hand, her mouth slightly open in astonishment perhaps at his astonishment. Firoz was staring at her, transfixed.

‘Have we met before?’ he asked gently, his heart beating fast.