Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘Two or three would be more than enough,’ said Pran.

‘But you must keep up the massage. To maintain the vital fluids.’

‘Oh yes!’ agreed Pran.

‘It is most essential for all people.’

‘But who massages the masseur?’ asked Pran.

‘I am sixty-three,’ said Mr Maggu Gopal, rather affronted. ‘I don’t need it. Now turn around, please.’

When Maan returned to Brahmpur, he made straight for Baitar House. It was evening, and Firoz met him. He was delighted to see Maan, but appeared a little awkward, especially when he saw that Maan had brought his bags with him.

‘I thought I’d stay here,’ said Maan, embracing his friend.

‘Not at home?’ asked Firoz. ‘God, how burnt and wild you look.’

‘What a welcome!’ said Maan, not at all put out. ‘No, here’s best — that is, if it’s all right with you. Will you have to ask your father? The reason is that I can’t bear to deal with my father and everything else at the same time.’

‘Of course you’re welcome,’ said Firoz, smiling at the ‘everything else’. ‘Good. I’ll get Ghulam Rusool to arrange to put your bags in your room — the room you usually stay in.’

‘Thanks,’ said Maan.

‘I hope you’ll stay for a while. I didn’t mean to sound unwelcoming. I just didn’t expect you’d want to stay here rather than at home. I’m glad you’re here. Now come in, wash up, and join me for dinner.’

But Maan begged off dinner.

‘Oh, sorry,’ said Firoz, ‘I wasn’t thinking. You haven’t been home yet.’

‘Well,’ said Maan. ‘I wasn’t thinking of going home.’

‘Where then?’ asked Firoz. ‘Oh, I see.’

‘Don’t sound so disapproving. I can’t wait. I’m all keyed up!’

‘I am disapproving,’ said Firoz seriously. ‘You should go home first. Anyway, I made sure your letter got to her,’ he went on, with the air of one who does not wish to continue a subject.

‘I believe you’re interested in Saeeda Bai yourself, and are trying to keep me away,’ said Maan, laughing at his own joke.

‘No — no—’ said Firoz, rather unconvincingly. He didn’t want a long discussion about Tasneem, who had cast a light and delicate spell over him.

‘Now what’s the matter?’ said Maan, seeing a complex cast of emotions pass over his friend’s face. ‘Oh, it’s that girl.’

‘No, no—’ said Firoz, even more unconvincingly.

‘Well, it’s either the elder sister or the younger — unless it’s the maid — Bibbo!’ And at the thought of Firoz and Bibbo together Maan burst out laughing. Firoz put his arm around Maan’s shoulder and drew him into the house.

‘You’re not very forthcoming with me,’ complained Maan. ‘I tell you everything that’s in my heart.’

‘You tell everyone everything,’ said Firoz, smiling.

‘Not everything,’ said Maan, looking at Firoz.

Firoz coloured slightly. ‘No, I suppose not. Anyway, most things. I’m not a very forthcoming person. I tell you as much as I tell anyone. And if I don’t tell you more, it’s a good thing. It might be disturbing.’

‘To me?’ said Maan.

‘Yes — to you, to me, to us, to Brahmpur, to the universe,’ said Firoz evasively. ‘I presume you’re going to have a bath after the journey?’

‘Yes,’ said Maan. ‘But why are you so keen that I shouldn’t go to Saeeda Bai’s?’

‘Oh,’ said Firoz, ‘I’m not keen that you shouldn’t go there. I was just — what was it you said? — disapproving that you didn’t visit your family first. Well, at least your mother. I met Pran the other day and he said that you’d just disappeared — hadn’t been heard of or seen for ten days by anyone, not even in the village. And that your mother was very worried. And then I thought that with your nephew and all—’

‘What?’ said Maan, startled. ‘Savita’s baby’s been born already?’

‘No, no, your mathematical nephew — haven’t you heard?’

From the expression on Firoz’s face Maan could see that the news wasn’t good. His mouth opened slightly. ‘You mean the little frog?’ asked Maan.

‘What little frog?’

‘Veena’s child — Bhaskar.’

‘Yes. Well, your only nephew. He was hurt in the stampede at the Pul Mela. You really haven’t heard?’ he said incredulously.

‘But no one wrote to tell me!’ said Maan, upset and annoyed. ‘And then I went on this trek, and — how is he?’

‘He’s all right now. Don’t look so worried. He really is. But apparently he was concussed, and had amnesia, and it took him some time to become coherent again. Perhaps it was as well that they didn’t write. You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Maan, agitated with concern for Bhaskar. ‘This must be my father’s doing. He must have thought I’d come straight back to Brahmpur if I’d heard. Well, I would have—’ he began vehemently, then stopped. ‘Firoz, you should have written and told me.’

‘I didn’t think of it,’ said Firoz. ‘I’m really sorry. I assumed that your family would have told you. I couldn’t have imagined that they wouldn’t. It isn’t as if it was a family secret. All of us knew.’

A sudden, irrelevant thought struck Maan again. ‘You’re not a secret admirer of Saeeda Bai’s, are you?’ he asked his friend.

‘Oh no,’ said Firoz, puzzled. ‘Not that I don’t admire her.’

‘Good,’ said Maan, relieved. ‘I couldn’t compete with a Nawabzada. Oh, er, bad luck about the zamindari case — I heard the news and thought of you. Hmm, will you lend me a walking stick? I feel like twirling something this evening. Oh, and some cologne. And a clean kurta-pyjama. Civilization is hard on those who’ve reverted to savagery.’

‘My clothes won’t fit you. Your shoulders are too broad.’

‘Imtiaz’s would. They did at the Fort.’

‘So they would,’ said Firoz. ‘I’ll bring them up to your room. And a half-bottle of whisky.’

‘Thanks,’ said Maan, ruffling his friend’s hair. ‘Perhaps civilization isn’t so hard after all.’

While Maan was soaking himself in the delicious sensations of a hot bath, he kept imagining the even more delicious sensations that he was soon to feel in the arms of his beloved. He wrapped himself in the towelled robe that had been provided, and walked into the bedroom.

There, however, more sober thoughts presented themselves. He thought of his nephew, and how hurt he would be if he heard that his Maan Maama had been in town and had not come immediately to see him. Rather glumly Maan decided that he would have to visit Bhaskar first. He poured himself a whisky, drank it quickly, poured another, drank that equally quickly, and took the rest of the half-bottle with him in the pocket of Imtiaz’s kurta.

Instead of hiring a tonga, he decided to walk to Prem Nivas, where Firoz had told him Bhaskar would be.

Walking in Pasand Bagh was a pleasure. Maan noticed for the first time in his life that there were even streetlamps on most streets. Just walking on solid roads after the mud and dirt of country tracks was a privilege. He tapped and twirled Firoz’s walking stick. After a while, however, he didn’t feel much like it. He became rather depressed at the thought of having to face his father again. And his mother too in a way: she would act as a damper on the anticipated excitement of the evening. She would tell him to stay for dinner. She would ask him all about the villages and the state of his health. Maan’s steps became slightly slower and more uncertain. Perhaps it was also the whisky taking effect. He had had very little to drink for weeks.

When he came to a fork in the road, not far from his destination, he looked up at the stars for a bit of guidance. Then he tapped his stick on the pavement, and turned first this way, then that. He looked very undecided. Finally, he took the right-hand fork to Saeeda Bai’s rather than the road to Prem Nivas. This cheered him up immediately.