‘It would have been good if your mother had been here,’ said Mahesh Kapoor. ‘It’s even more important in this place than in my old constituency – even more of the women here are in purdah.’
‘How about the Congress women’s groups?’ asked Maan.
Mahesh Kapoor clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘It’s not enough to have Congress Women volunteers,’ he said. ‘What we need is a powerful woman speaker.’
‘Ammaji isn’t a powerful speaker,’ Maan pointed out with a smile. He tried to imagine his mother on a podium and failed. Her speciality was quiet work behind the scenes, mainly in helping people, but sometimes – as in elections – in persuasion.
‘No, but she’s from the family, and that makes all the difference.’
Maan nodded. ‘I think we should try to get Veena out to help,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to talk to old Mrs Tandon, though.’
‘The old lady doesn’t like my godless ways,’ said Mahesh Kapoor to his son. ‘We’ll have to get your mother to speak to her. You go back next week and tell her. And while you’re at it, tell Kedarnath to speak to the jatavs he knows in Ravidaspur to contact the scheduled castes in this area. Caste, caste.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh yes, and one more thing. For the first few days we should travel around together. Then we can split forces to get more coverage. The Fort has two jeeps. You can go around with Waris and I’ll go around with the munshi.’
‘When Firoz comes, you should go around with him,’ said Maan, who did not care much for the munshi and thought he might well lose his father votes. ‘That will make a Hindu-Muslim pair in each jeep.’
‘Well, what is keeping him away?’ asked Mahesh Kapoor impatiently. ‘It would have been much better if he had showed us around Baitar. I can understand why Imtiaz can’t leave Brahmpur.’
‘He’s had a lot of work recently,’ said Maan, thinking for a moment of his friend. He had been allotted Firoz’s room as usual, high up in the Fort. ‘And the Nawab Sahib?’ he countered. ‘What is his reason for deserting us?’
‘He doesn’t like elections,’ said Mahesh Kapoor shortly. ‘In fact, he doesn’t like politics at all. And after his father’s role in splitting up the country, I don’t blame him. Well, he’s put everything at our disposal. At least we are mobile. Can you imagine driving my car along these roads? Or going around on bullock-carts?’
‘We’re perfectly mobile,’ said Maan. ‘Two jeeps, a pair of bullocks, and a bicycle.’ They both laughed. A pair of bullocks was the Congress symbol, and Waris’s was a bicycle.
‘A pity about your mother,’ repeated Mahesh Kapoor.
‘There’s still a long way to go before the polls,’ said Maan optimistically, ‘and I’m sure she’ll be well enough to give us a hand in a week or two.’ He looked forward to the return to Brahmpur that his father had just suggested. It seemed to him that for almost the first time in his life his father trusted him; indeed, in some ways, depended on him.
Waris entered to announce that they were just on their way to the Socialist Party meeting in town. Did the Minister Sahib or Maan Sahib wish to come along?
Mahesh Kapoor thought that if Waris had organized some heckling it would be inappropriate for him to go. Maan was bound by no such scruples. He wanted to see everything there was to be seen.
17.6
THE MEETING of the Socialist Party began forty-five minutes late under a huge red and green canopy on the playing fields of the government school in Baitar, where most important large meetings in town were held. A few men on the podium were trying to keep the crowd entertained and patient. Several people greeted Waris, and he was delighted to be the centre of a little knot of attention. He went around introducing Maan and greeting people with an adaab or a namasté or a hearty slap on the back. ‘This is the man who saved the Nawabzada’s life,’ he announced so flamboyantly that even the robust Maan was embarrassed.
The socialist procession through the city had got held up somewhere. But now the roll of drums got closer, and soon the candidate was ascending the stage with his entourage. He was a middle-aged teacher who had been a member of the District Board for years. Not only was he known to be a good speaker himself but someone had also spread the false rumour that the great socialist leader Jayaprakash Narayan might possibly be coming to speak in Baitar – so there was a large crowd on the football field. It was seven in the evening, and beginning to get chilly; the almost entirely male audience, townsfolk and villagers alike, had brought shawls and blankets to wrap themselves up in. Cotton durries had been laid out on the ground by the organizers as protection against dust and dew.