Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

The afternoon before, on the instructions of the Home Minister, a number of cars had been requisitioned in order to ferry the wounded to hospital. One of these cars was the Buick of Dr Kishen Chand Seth.

Dr Seth had decided to see a movie that afternoon, and his car was parked outside a cinema hall, the Rialto. When he emerged, sobbing with sentiment, supported by his hardboiled young wife Parvati, he found two policemen leaning on his car.

Dr Kishen Chand Seth immediately flew into a rage. He raised his cane threateningly, and if Parvati had not restrained him, he would certainly have used it. The policemen, who knew Dr Seth’s reputation, were very apologetic.

‘We have orders to requisition this car, Sir,’ they said.

‘You — what?’ spluttered Dr Seth. ‘Get out, get out, get out of my sight before I—’ He was at a loss for words. Nothing seemed severe enough retribution for their gall.

‘Because of the Pul Mela—’

‘All superstition, all superstition!’ said Dr Kishen Chand Seth. ‘Let me go at once.’ He took out his key.

The Sub-Inspector apologetically took it from his hand in an unexpected and skilful movement. Dr Kishen Chand Seth almost had a heart attack.

‘You — you dare—’ he gasped. ‘Teutonic frightfulness—’ he added in English. This was worse than bayoneting babies.

‘Sir, there has been a disaster at the Pul Mela, and we—’

‘What nonsense! Had there been any such thing, I would certainly have heard of it. I am a doctor — a radiologist. You can’t requisition a doctor’s car. Let me see your written orders.’

‘—we have orders to requisition any vehicle within a mile of the pipal tree.’

‘I am just here to see a film, this car is not actually here,’ said Dr Kishen Chand Seth, pointing to his Buick. ‘Give me my keys back.’ He reached out for them.

‘Kishy, don’t shout, darling,’ said Parvati. ‘Perhaps there really has been some disaster. We’ve been seeing a film for the last three hours.’

‘I assure you, Sir, there has been,’ said the policeman. ‘There have been a great many deaths and injuries. I am requisitioning this car on the express instructions of the Home Minister of Purva Pradesh. Only cars of active — non-retired — doctors are exempt. We will take good care of it.’

This last remark was just a soothing formula. Dr Kishen Chand Seth realized immediately that his car would be virtually disabled through misuse and overuse. If what this idiot was saying was true, there would be sand in the engine and blood on the calfskin upholstery by the time he got it back. But had there really been such a disaster? Or was this just another example of post-Independence rot? People were shockingly high-handed these days.

‘You!’ he shouted at a passer-by.

Taken aback, not accustomed to being addressed in this manner, the man, a respectable clerk in a government department, stopped in his tracks and turned a face of polite, perplexed inquiry towards Dr Kishen Chand Seth.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. Has there been a disaster at the Pul Mela? Hundreds dead?’ The last query was pronounced with scornful disbelief.

‘Yes, Sahib, there has been,’ said the man. ‘I heard the rumour, then heard it on the radio. It is certainly true. Even the official estimate is in the hundreds.’

‘All right — take it,’ said Dr Kishen Chand Seth. ‘But mind — no blood on the seats — no blood on the seats. I won’t have it. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes, Sir. Rest assured that we will return it to you within a week. Your address, Sir?’

‘Everyone knows my address,’ said Dr Kishen Chand Seth airily. And he stepped out on to the street, waving his cane. He was going to requisition a taxi — or some other car — to take him home.

L.N. Agarwal was not popular with the students of Brahmpur. He was disliked both for his authoritarian ways and for his manipulativeness on the Executive Council of Brahmpur University. And the pronouncements of most of the political parties on the university campus were virulently anti-Agarwal in tone.

The Home Minister knew this, and his request for student volunteers to help with the aftermath of the disaster was therefore phrased as a request from the Chief Minister. Most of the students were not in Brahmpur, since it was the vacation. But many of those who were there responded. They would almost certainly have responded even if the request had been signed by the Home Minister.

Kabir, being the son of a faculty member, and therefore living close to the university, was one of the first to hear of the appeal. He and his younger brother Hashim went to the central control room that had been set up in the Fort. The sun was about to set over the city of tents. Apart from the lights and cooking fires there were a number of larger fires here and there, where bodies were being cremated. The loudspeakers continued their endless litany of names, and would continue to do so throughout the night.

They were allocated to different first-aid centres. The other volunteers were exhausted, and glad to be relieved. They could get some food and a couple of hours’ sleep before they were called back to duty again.

Despite everyone’s efforts — the lists, the centres, the stations, the control room — there was more confusion than order. No one knew what to do with the lost women — mostly aged and infirm, penniless and hungry — until the Congress women’s committee, impatient with the indecisiveness of the authorities, took them in hand. Few knew where to take the lost or dead or injured in general, few knew where to find them. Unhappy people ran from one end of the hot sands to the other only to be told that the meeting place for pilgrims of their particular state was somewhere else. Injured or dead children were sometimes taken to the compound for lost children, sometimes to the first-aid centres, sometimes to the police enclosure. The instructions on the loudspeaker appeared to change with the person who was temporarily manning it.

After a long night of assisting at the first-aid centre, Kabir was staring blankly ahead of him when he saw Bhaskar being brought in.

He was carried in very tenderly by a fat, melancholy, middle-aged man. Bhaskar appeared to be asleep. Kabir frowned when he saw him and immediately got up. He recognized the boy as his father’s mathematical companion.

‘I found him on the sand just after the stampede,’ explained the man, setting the boy down on the ground where there was a little space. ‘He was lying not far from the ramp, so he’s lucky not to have got crushed. I took him to our camp, thinking he would wake up soon enough and I could take him home. I’m fond of children, you know. My wife and I don’t have any. . ’ He drifted off, then returned to the subject at hand. ‘Anyway, he woke up once, but didn’t respond to any of my questions. He doesn’t even know his name. And then he went off to sleep again, and hasn’t woken up since. I haven’t been able to feed him anything. I’ve shaken him, but he doesn’t react. He hasn’t drunk anything either, you know. But, through the grace of my guru, his pulse is still beating.’

‘It’s good you brought him here,’ said Kabir. ‘I think I can trace his parents.’

‘Well, you know, I was going to take him to a hospital, but then I happened to be paying attention to that horrible loudspeaker for a minute or two — and it said that those lost children who had been taken under protection by individuals should be kept in the Mela area, otherwise tracing them would be impossible. And so I brought him here.’

‘Good. Good,’ sighed Kabir.

‘Now if there is anything I can do — I am afraid I will be leaving tomorrow morning.’ The man passed his hand over Bhaskar’s forehead. ‘He doesn’t have any identification on him so I don’t really see how you’ll trace him. But stranger things have happened in my life. You are looking for a person, not even knowing who they are, and then you suddenly find them. Well, good-bye.’