The Raja had degenerated from his student days in Brahmpur, when he had given the impression of being tolerably presentable. His son, who had been protected from his father’s way of life by the Rani and Dowager Rani, was now himself a student at Brahmpur University; no doubt he too, upon returning to feudal Marh as an adult, would shake off the maternal influence and grow to be as tamasic as his father: ignorant, brutal, slothful, and rank.
The father ignored the son during his stay in town and visited a series of courtesans and prostitutes. Today, once again, it was Saeeda Bai’s turn. He arrived adorned with diamond ear-tops and a ruby in his silk turban, and smelling strongly of attar of musk. He placed a small silken pouch containing five hundred rupees on a table near the door of the upstairs room where Saeeda Bai entertained. The Raja then stretched out against a long white bolster on the white-sheeted floor, and looked around for glasses. They were lying on the low table where the tablas and harmonium stood. The Black Dog was opened and the whisky poured into two glasses. The musicians remained downstairs.
‘How long it has been since these eyes last saw you –’ said Saeeda Bai, sipping her whisky and restraining a grimace at its strong taste.
The Raja was too involved with his drink to think of answering.
‘You have become as difficult to sight as the moon at Id.’
The Raja grunted at the pleasantry. After he had downed a few whiskies, he became more affable, and told her how beautiful she was looking – before pushing her thickly towards the door that led into the bedroom.
After half an hour, they came out, and the musicians were summoned. Saeeda Bai was looking slightly sick.
He made her sing the same set of ghazals he always did; she sang them with the same break in her voice at the same heartrending phrases – something she had learned to do without difficulty. She nursed her glass of whisky. The Raja had finished a third of his bottle by now, and his eyes were becoming red. From time to time he shouted ‘wah! wah!’ in indiscriminate praise, or belched or snorted or gaped or scratched his crotch.
2.19
WHILE the ghazals were proceeding upstairs, Maan was walking towards the house. From the street he could not make out the sound of singing. He told the watchman he was there to see Saeeda Bai, but the stolid man told him that she was indisposed.
‘Oh,’ said Maan, his voice filled with concern. ‘Let me go in – I’ll see how she is – perhaps I can fetch a doctor.’
‘Begum Sahiba is not admitting anyone today.’
‘But I have something for her with me here,’ said Maan. He had a large book in his left hand. He reached into his pocket with his right and extracted his wallet. ‘Would you see she gets it?’
‘Yes, Huzoor,’ said the watchman, accepting a live-rupee note.
‘Well, then –’ said Maan and, with a disappointed look at the rose-coloured house beyond the small green gate, walked slowly away. The watchman carried the book a couple of minutes later to the front door and gave it to Bibbo.
‘What – for me?’ said Bibbo flirtatiously. The watchman looked at her with such a lack of expression it was almost an expression in itself. ‘No. And tell Begum Sahiba it was from that young man who came the other day.’
‘The one who got you into such trouble with Begum Sahiba?’
‘I was not in trouble.’ And the watchman walked back to the gate.
Bibbo giggled and closed the door. She looked at the book for a few minutes. It was very handsome and – apart from print – contained pictures of languid men and women in various romantic settings. One particular picture took her fancy. A woman in a black robe was kneeling by a grave. Her eyes were closed. There were stars in the sky behind a high wall in the background. In the foreground was a short, gnarled, leafless tree, its roots entwined among large stones. Bibbo stood wondering for a few moments. Then, without thinking about the Raja of Marh, she closed the book to take it up to Saeeda Bai.
Like a spark on a slow fuse, the book now moved from the gate to the front door, across the hall, up the stairs and along the gallery to the open doorway of the room where Saeeda Bai was entertaining the Raja. When she saw him, Bibbo stopped abruptly and tried to retreat along the gallery. But Saeeda Bai had spotted her. She broke off the ghazal she was singing.
‘Bibbo, what’s the matter? Come in.’
‘Nothing, Saeeda Begum. I’ll come back later.’
‘What’s the matter with the girl? First she interrupts, then it’s “Nothing, Saeeda Begum, I’ll come back later!” What’s that in your hands?’
‘Nothing, Begum Sahiba.’