Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

While the zamindars on the one hand and the framers of the act on the other, the tenantry on the one hand and the retainers of the landlords on the other, all underwent these swings of elation and depression, the judges continued to frame their judgement in secret. They assembled in the Chief Justice’s chambers shortly after the arguments were over to discuss what shape and direction the judgement should take. There was considerable disagreement over the issues, the line to be taken in arriving at the judgement, and even over the judgement itself. The Chief Justice, however, persuaded the other judges to present a united front. ‘Look at that Bihar judgement,’ he said. ‘Three judges, not essentially in disagreement, each insisting on having his own say, and at — I presume I will not be quoted — at such tedious length. How will the lawyers know what the judgement means? This isn’t the House of Lords, and our judgements shouldn’t be in the form of individual speeches.’ He eventually brought his colleagues around to the idea of a single judgement unless there was strong dissent on a particular point. Rather than entrust any other judge with the first draft of the judgement, he decided to write it himself.

They worked with as much speed as care allowed. The draft judgement did the rounds of the judges in a single circular, gathering comments on separate sheets. ‘In view of the argument on page 21 about the non-applicability of implicit concepts wherever specific provision covering a particular matter already exists in the wording of the Constitution, is not the rather lengthy discussion of eminent domain moot?’ ‘I suggest that on page 16 line 8, we delete the phrase “were tilling their own land” and substitute “were not in fact intermediaries between the agriculturists and the state”.’ ‘I believe we should retain the eminent domain discussion as a second line of defence in case the Supreme Court overrules us on the non-applicability aspect.’ And so on. None of the five were unconscious of the heavy burden of responsibility that lay on them in this decision: their judgement would be as momentous as any act of the legislature or executive and would alter the lives of millions.

The judgement — seventy-five pages long — was drawn up, amended, discussed, reamended, examined, approved, finalized. A single copy was typed up by the private secretary of the Chief Justice. Gossip and leakage were as endemic in Brahmpur as in the rest of the country, but no one except these six people got to learn what the judgement — and, most crucially, its final operative paragraph — contained.

For the last week or so Mahesh Kapoor, like many other senior and junior state politicians, had been shuttling back and forth between Brahmpur and Patna, which was only a few hours away by road or rail. The political aftermath of the Pul Mela and the precarious state of his grandson’s health kept him in Brahmpur. But he was pulled towards Patna every second day or so by the momentous events occurring there, events that were likely, in his view, to alter entirely the shape and configuration of the political forces of the country.

These matters came up in a discussion with his wife one morning.

The previous evening he had learned, upon his return from Patna (where several political parties, including the Congress Party, were holding sessions in the mad heat of June), news that would keep him in Brahmpur at least until that afternoon.

‘Good,’ said Mrs Mahesh Kapoor quietly. ‘Then we can go together to visit Bhaskar in hospital.’

‘Woman, I will not have time for that,’ was Mahesh Kapoor’s impatient reply. ‘I can’t be hanging around hospital wards all day.’

Mrs Mahesh Kapoor said nothing, but that she was upset was obvious to her husband. Bhaskar was no longer unconscious, but he was very far from normal. He had a high temperature, and he could remember nothing of what had happened during the day of the stampede. His memory, even of earlier events, was erratic.

When Kedarnath had returned, he had hardly been able to believe the news. Veena, who had reproached him in his absence, did not have the heart to do so now. They stayed by Bhaskar’s bedside day and night. At first heartbreakingly vague even about the identity of his own parents, Bhaskar had slowly begun to identify himself and his surroundings. Numbers still mattered to him however; and he cheered up whenever Dr Durrani visited him. But Dr Durrani did not find these visits particularly interesting, since his nine-year-old colleague had lost some of the acuity of his mathematical insight. Kabir, however, for whom Bhaskar had previously been just an occasional face in his house, had become fond of him. It was in fact he who prodded his absent-minded father into visiting Bhaskar every two or three days.

‘What is so important that you can’t visit him?’ asked Mrs Mahesh Kapoor after a while. Her husband had turned back to the newspaper.

‘Yesterday’s Cause List,’ replied her husband laconically. But Mrs Mahesh Kapoor persisted, and the Minister of Revenue explained, as one would to an idiot, that the Cause List of the Brahmpur High Court contained a bench-by-bench list of the next day’s agenda; and that the judgement in the zamindari case would be announced in the Chief Justice’s court at ten o’clock that morning.

‘And after that?’

‘After that? After that — whatever the verdict is — I will have to decide what the next step must be. I’ll be closeted with the Advocate-General and Abdus Salaam and God knows who else. And then, when I return to Patna, with the Chief Minister and — why am I explaining all this to you?’ He returned pointedly to his newspaper.

‘Can’t you leave for Patna after seven o’clock? Evening visiting hours are from five to seven.’

Mahesh Kapoor put the newspaper down, and almost yelled: ‘Can’t a man have peace in his own house? Pran’s mother, do you know what is happening in this country? The Congress is threatening to split down the middle, people are defecting left and right to this new party.’ He stopped, then continued with increasing emotion: ‘Everyone who is decent is leaving. P.C. Ghosh has gone, Prakasam has gone, both Kripalani and his wife have gone. They are accusing us, rightly enough, of “corruption, nepotism, and jobbery”. Rafi Sahib, with his usual circus skills, is attending the meetings of both parties — and has got himself elected to the board of this new thing, this KMPP, this Peasants’ and Workers’ Peoples’ Party! And Nehru himself is threatening to resign from the Congress. “We also are tired,” he says.’ Mahesh Kapoor gave an impatient snort before repeating the last phrase. ‘And your own husband feels much the same,’ he continued. ‘This is not why I spent years of my life in prison. I am sick of the Congress Party, and I too am thinking of leaving it. I have to go to Patna, do you understand, and I have to go to Patna this afternoon. Every hour the shape of things is changing, at every meeting there’s some new crisis or other. God knows what is being decided for this state in my absence. Agarwal is in Patna, yes, Agarwal, Agarwal, who should be clearing up the Pul Mela mess, he’s in Patna, manoeuvring endlessly, giving as much support to Tandon and as much trouble to Nehru as he possibly can. And you ask me why I won’t defer going back to Patna. Bhaskar won’t notice my absence, poor boy, and you can explain my reasons to Veena — if you remember one-tenth of them. You take the car. I’ll find my own way to court. Now, enough—’ And he held up his hand.

Mrs Mahesh Kapoor said nothing further. She would not change; he would not change; he knew that she would not change; she knew that he would not change; and each knew that the other knew this.