I don’t suppose anything is going to bring you back here before the term begins, but I miss you a lot even though, as I said, things are so busy that I find it hard to think even half a thought through.
Love to you, and also to Ma, Pran, Savita and the baby – but you don’t have to give them my love if you’re afraid they’ll start asking you all about my letter. Well, you can give Uma my love anyway.
Malati
P.S. Amongst the inmates of Paradise women will form the minority, and amongst the inmates of Hell a majority. I thought I’d be even-handed, and give you a quotation from the Hadith as well. ‘Hit or myth’: that, in a nutshell, is the attitude to women in every religion.
P.P.S. Since I’m in the mood for quotations, here is something from a short story in a women’s magazine, which describes the symptoms I want you to avoid: ‘She became an invalid, a moth-eaten flower… A cloud of despair was roosting on her pale moon of a face… A red and violent anger bubbled out of her. It emanated from the headache hatching in her heart… Like a humbled monarch, bowing its head, the car cringed away, the swirling dust in its wake portraying her emotions.’
P.P.P.S. If you decide to sing him out of your system, I would recommend that you avoid your favourite ‘serious’ raags like Shri, Lalit, Todi, Marwa, etc, and sing something more melodious like Behag or Kamod or Kedar.
P.P.P.P.S. That’s all, dearest Lata. Sleep well.
16.25
LATA did not sleep well. She lay awake for hours, racked with jealousy so intense it almost forced the breath out of her and misery so complete she could not believe it was she who was feeling it. There was no privacy in the house – there was no privacy anywhere – where she could go and be by herself for a week and wash away the image of Kabir that she had, despite herself, stored away with the most treasured of her memories. Malati had said nothing about who this woman was, what she looked like, what they had said, who had seen them. Had they met by chance just as she herself had met him? Was he taking her for dawn jaunts to the Barsaat Mahal? Had he kissed her? No, he couldn’t have, he couldn’t have kissed her, the thought was unbearable.
Thoughts of what Malati had told her in their discussions about sex came back to torment her.
It was past midnight, but it was impossible to sleep. Quietly, so as not to disturb her mother or the rest of the household, she entered the small garden. There she sat on the bench where in the summer she had sat among the spider-lilies and had read his letter. After an hour she found herself shivering from the cold, but she hardly cared.
How could he? – she thought, though she was forced to admit to herself that she had given him precious little encouragement or comfort. And now it was too late. She felt weak and exhausted, and finally went back and lay down on her bed. She slept, but her dreams were not calm. She imagined Kabir was holding her in his arms, was kissing her passionately, was making love to her, and that she was in ecstasy. But suddenly this disturbing ecstasy gave way to terror. For his face was now the deranged face of Mr Sahgal, and he was whispering, almost to himself, as he panted above her: ‘You are a good girl, a very good girl. I am so proud of you.’
Part Seventeen
17.1
THAT Savita had been in Calcutta at all to advise Lata and counter Arun on the question of marriage was something that had not come about automatically. It had been the subject of a family dispute.
In the middle of December Pran had told Savita one morning in bed: ‘I think, darling, that we should stay in Brahmpur. Baoji is far too busy with electioneering these days, and he needs all the help he can get.’
Uma was sleeping in her cot. This gave Pran another idea.
‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘is it wise for the baby to go travelling just yet?
Savita was still sleepy. She just about made sense of what Pran was saying. She thought a little about the repercussions of his suggestion, and said: ‘Let’s talk about this later.’
Pran, by now quite used to the way she phrased her disagreements, was quiet. After a while Mateen brought in the tea. Savita said: ‘And perhaps you think you shouldn’t be travelling at this time either?’
‘No, perhaps not,’ said Pran, pleased that things were going his way. ‘And besides, Ammaji is not too well. I’m worried about her. I know you are too, darling.’
Savita nodded. But she felt that Pran had recovered quite rapidly, and was now well enough to travel. Moreover, he needed the holiday and change of scene badly. He should not, she felt, be imposed upon by his demanding father. The baby would be well taken care of in Calcutta. As for Savita’s mother-in-law, she was, it was true, not very well, but was nevertheless taking part in election work among the women with the same robustness that had marked her relief work some years previously with the refugees from Punjab.