Mahesh Kapoor’s own very brief visit to Salimpur at Bakr-Id was not forgotten. Although he was an outsider, people felt that he was not merely interested in them for their votes, a fickle migratory bird visible only at election time.
Maan enjoyed meeting people and asking for their votes on his father’s behalf. At times he felt quite protective of him. Even when Mahesh Kapoor got annoyed, as he sometimes still did when he was very tired, Maan took it in good part. Perhaps I will become a politician after all, he thought. Certainly, I enjoy it more than most other things I’ve done. But even if I do manage to become an MLA or MP, what will I do once I get there?
Whenever he felt restless, Maan would take over from the driver and hurtle the colourfully decorated flag-decked jeep at breakneck speed down roads that were meant at best for bullock-carts. This gave him an exhilarating sense of freedom and everyone else a physical and psychological shock. The jeep, which was meant to accommodate two passengers in front and at most four in the back, was often crammed with ten or a dozen people, food, megaphones, posters, and all sorts of other paraphernalia besides. Its horn blew unceasingly and it trailed impressive clouds of dust and glory. Once, when its radiator began to leak, the driver scolded it and mixed some turmeric into the water. This sealed the leak miraculously.
One morning, they drove towards the twin villages of Debaria and Sagal, which were on the agenda for the day. As they approached the village Maan fell into a sudden depression. He had remembered Rasheed on and off during these last few days, and was glad they had been so busy that the memory had not preyed on him even more. But now he thought of what he was going to have to say to Rasheed’s family. Perhaps they already knew about him. Certainly, neither Netaji nor Qamar had asked about him. But then, when they had met, there had been very little time to enquire.
Some other questions came to Maan’s mind, and instead of humming a ghazal, as he sometimes did when driving, he fell silent. Was Rasheed serious when he had spoken of canvassing for the Socialist Party? What had brought his disturbing rift of delusion about Tasneem to the surface? Again he thought back to the day when they had visited the old and sick man at Sagal. He felt that Rasheed was at heart a good man, not the calculating ogre of Saeeda Bai’s fancy.
It was almost the end of the year, and Maan had not seen Saeeda Bai now for two weeks. During the days he was so busy that she did not often enter his mind. But at night, even though he was exhausted, and just before sleep took over, his mind would turn to her. He would think not of her steely tantrums but of her gentleness and softness, of her unhappiness about Tasneem, of the scent of attar of roses, of the taste of Banarasi paan on her lips, of the intoxicating atmosphere of her two rooms. How strange, he thought, that he had never met her anywhere other than in those two rooms – except twice. It had been nine months since Holi evening in Prem Nivas, when he had first quoted Dagh to her in light-spirited public banter. And it seemed ages since he had tasted the sherbet from her hands. Even for one who continued to feel tenderly towards almost all the women he had had affairs with, it was a new experience for Maan to be obsessed by one woman – sexually and emotionally – for so long.
‘For God’s sake, Maan, drive straight. Do you want to have the election cancelled?’ said his father. There was a rule to the effect that if a candidate died before the poll, it would be countermanded and a new election declared.
‘Yes, Baoji,’ said Maan. ‘Sorry.’
In the event, Maan did not have to say much to anyone about Rasheed. Baba, who had met Mahesh Kapoor on the last visit, took over the reins as soon as they arrived in the village.
‘So you’ve rejoined the Congress,’ he said to the Minister.
‘Yes, I have,’ said Mahesh Kapoor. ‘It was good advice you gave me.’
Baba was pleased that Mahesh Kapoor had remembered.
‘Well,’ said Baba, fixing his eyes on the younger man, ‘you’ll have no problem winning by a large margin in this constituency, even if Nehru doesn’t.’ He spat a blob of reddish spittle onto the ground.
‘Don’t you think there’s any threat to me at all?’ asked Mahesh Kapoor. ‘It’s true that the Congress is winning hands down in all the states that have had early polls.’
‘No threat at all,’ said Baba. ‘None. The Muslims are behind you and behind the Congress, the scheduled castes are behind the Congress whether they’re behind you or not, a few of the upper caste Hindus will go for the Jan Sangh and that other party whose name I forget, but they don’t form much of the population. The left is divided into three. And none of the Independents count for much. Do you really want me to take you around these villages?’