‘Ila?’said Pran.
‘Oh, Ila Chattopadhyay,’ said Amit, relieved that the points had been switched on the tracks. ‘Dr Ila Chattopadhyay.’
‘The one who writes about Donne?’ asked Pran.
‘Yes. Didn’t you meet her when you were in Calcutta? Not even at our place? I suppose not. Anyway, she was telling me about a textbook scandal at some university where a professor got a book prescribed as a compulsory textbook when he himself had written it under a pseudonym. She got extremely excited about the whole business.’
‘Doesn’t she tend to?’ asked Lata with a smile.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Amit, pleased that Lata was at last taking part in the conversation. ‘Yes, she does. She’s coming to Brahmpur in a few days, as it happens, so you’ll have a chance to meet,’ he added to Pran. ‘I’ll tell her to look you up. You’ll find her very interesting.’
‘The baby’s sleeping,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra, returning to the room. ‘Very soundly, very sweetly.’
‘Well, I thought her book on Donne was very good,’ said Pran. ‘What’s she coming here for?’
‘She’s sitting on some committee or other – I don’t think she mentioned what,’ said Amit. ‘And I’m not sure, given her erratic ways, that she herself will remember.’
Mrs Rupa Mehra said: ‘Yes, she is one of these very intelligent women. Very modern in her views. She was advising Lata against getting married.’
Pran hesitated before saying: ‘Was it a selection committee by any chance?’
Amit tried to remember. ‘I think so. I’m not sure, but I think that’s what it was. Yes, she was talking about the poor calibre of most of the candidates, so it must have been.’
‘I don’t think I’d better meet her, in that case,’ said Pran. ‘She’ll probably be deciding my fate. I think I’m one of those candidates she was referring to.’
In the straits in which the family now found itself, Pran’s possible promotion had become still more important. Even his retention of this house, the conferral of which had been rather ad hoc, could well depend on it.
‘Your fate! That sounds very dramatic,’ said Amit. ‘I should think that with Professor Mishra firmly on your side, Fate would think twice about misbehaving with you.’
Savita leaned forward eagerly. ‘What did you say? Professor Mishra?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Amit. ‘He spoke most fulsomely about Pran when I told him I was having dinner here.’
‘There, darling,’ said Savita.
Pran said: ‘If I had been born a cockroach, I wouldn’t wonder: “What will the selection committee decide?” – “What’s happening to India?” – “Is the cheque in the mail?” – “Will I live to see my daughter grow up?” – Why on earth am I so concerned about all these things?’
Everyone except Amit looked at Pran with varying degrees of surprise and concern.
‘Don’t you care what happens to me?’ Maan asked suddenly.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Pran, taking his argument through its paces. ‘But I doubt a cockroach would care about what happened to his brother. Or father for that matter.’
‘Or mother,’ added Maan, getting up immediately to go. He looked as if he could not bear any more such talk.
‘Maan,’ said Savita, ‘don’t take it like that. Pran too has been under a lot of strain. And he didn’t mean any harm by that remark. Darling, please don’t talk like that. It was quite a peculiar thing to say, and it’s not like you at all; I’m not surprised Maan’s upset.’
Pran, with a look of tired affection, yawned and said: ‘I’ll try to be careful about what I say. In my own house and with my own family.’
Seeing Savita’s expression of hurt he wished he had left the second sentence unsaid. She, after all, succeeded in being careful without appearing constricted, without at all losing her sense of ease. She had never known him in perfect health. Even before the baby had been born, he could sense how much she loved him by the quiet of her footsteps in the room where he was sleeping – by the fact that she might begin to hum and suddenly become quiet. She would never have considered this to be a constraint. Sometimes he used to keep his eyes closed even though he was awake – just for the pleasure of feeling that someone cared for him so much. He supposed she was right: his remark had been a thoughtless one. Perhaps even childish.
Lata was looking at Savita and thinking: Savita was made to be married. She’s happy to do all the things a house and a family require, all the small and serious things of life. She’s only taken up law because it’s been forced upon her by Pran’s health. Then the thought struck her that Savita would have loved anyone whom she had married, anyone who was basically a good man, no matter how difficult he was, no matter how different he was from Pran.