A Suitable Boy(621)

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Maan. ‘Last year was interesting enough for me.’ He put out his hand and held hers. Then he kissed her shoulder. Saeeda Bai neither resisted nor responded.

Maan looked hurt. ‘Is something the matter?’ he said.

‘Nothing, Dagh Sahib, that you can help me with. Do you remember what I said the last time we met?’

‘I remember something of it,’ said Maan – but all he could remember was the sense of the conversation, not the exact words: her fears for Tasneem, her look of vulnerability.

‘Anyway,’ said Saeeda Bai, changing the subject. ‘I do not have much time with you this evening. I am expecting someone in a little while. God knows, I should have been reading the Quran, not Ghalib, but who knows what one will do from one moment to the next.’

‘I met Rasheed’s family,’ said Maan, who was agitated at the thought that he would have no time with her this evening, and wanted to get his unpleasant duty of informing Saeeda Bai over and done with as soon as possible.

‘Yes?’ said Saeeda Bai almost indifferently.

‘They don’t know anything, it seems to me, about what is going on in his head,’ said Maan. ‘Nor do they care. All they are concerned about is that his politics shouldn’t cause them any economic loss. That is all. His wife –’

Maan stopped. Saeeda Bai raised her head, and said: ‘Yes, yes, I’ve known that he has one wife already. And you know I know. But I am not interested in all this. Forgive me, I must now ask you to go.’

‘Saeeda – but tell me why –’

Saeeda Bai looked down at the book and started turning its pages in a distracted manner.

‘A page is torn,’ said Maan.

‘Yes,’ replied Saeeda Bai absently. ‘I should have it mended better.’

‘Let me do it for you,’ said Maan. ‘I can have it done. How did it get torn?’

‘Dagh Sahib, do you not see what state I am in? I cannot answer questions. I was reading your book when you came in. Why do you not believe that I was thinking of you?’

‘Saeeda,’ said Maan helplessly. ‘I can believe it. But what use is it to me that you should merely think of me when I am not here? I can see that you are distressed by something. But by what? Why don’t you tell me? I don’t understand it. I can’t understand it – and I want to help you. Is there someone else you are seeing?’ he said, suddenly sensing that her agitation could be caused by excitement as much as by distress. ‘Is that it? Is that it?’

‘Dagh Sahib,’ said Saeeda Bai in a quiet, exhausted tone. ‘This would not matter to you if you had more sakis than one. I told you that the last time.’

‘I don’t remember what you said the last time,’ said Maan, feeling a rush of jealousy. ‘Don’t tell me how many sakis I should have. You mean everything to me. I don’t care about what was said the last time. I want to know why I am being turned away by you this time with so little attempt at courtesy –’ He paused, overcome, then looked at her, breathing hard. ‘Why did you say this year would be so interesting for you? Why did you say that? What has happened since I’ve been away?’

Saeeda Bai leaned her head slightly at an angle. ‘Oh, that?’ she smiled, in a slightly mocking, even self-mocking, manner. ‘Fifty-two is the number of a pack of cards. Things are complete. Fate is bound to have shuffled and dealt things in a comprehensive way this year. So far I have lifted the edge of only two cards that have fallen to me, a Queen and a Jack: a Begum and a Ghulam.’

‘Of what suit?’ asked Maan, shaking his head. Ghulam could mean either a young man or a slave. ‘Are they of the same suit or are they antagonistic?’

‘Paan, perhaps,’ said Saeeda Bai, naming hearts. ‘At any rate I can see that they are both red. I can’t see any more. But I do not care for this conversation.’

‘Nor do I,’ said Maan, angrily. ‘At least there is no room this year for a joker in the pack.’

Suddenly Saeeda Bai started laughing in a desperate way. Then she covered her face with her hands. ‘Now it is up to you to think what you like. Think that I too have gone mad. It is beyond me to say what is the matter.’ Even before she uncovered her face Maan could tell that she was crying.

‘Saeeda Begum – Saeeda – I am sorry –’

‘Do not apologize. This is the easiest part of the night for me. I dread what is to come.’

‘Is it the Raja of Marh?’ said Maan.

‘The Raja of Marh?’ said Saeeda Bai softly, her eyes falling on the book. ‘Yes, yes, perhaps. Please leave me.’ The bowl of fruit was full of apples, pears, oranges, and even some unseasonal, wrinkled grapes. Impulsively she broke off a small bunch and gave them to Maan. ‘This will nourish you better than what comes of it,’ she said.