Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘I am serious.’

‘But if this isn’t a heart attack, what danger am I in?’

‘If you have congestive heart failure, you will have all the effects of pent up blood in your system. Your liver will become enlarged, so will your feet, your neck veins will become prominent, you will cough, and you will get very breathless, especially on walking or exertion. And it is possible that your brain might become confused as well. I don’t want to alarm you — this isn’t life-threatening—’

‘But you are alarming me,’ said Pran, looking at Imtiaz’s mole and finding it very irritating. ‘What else are you doing? I can’t take all this bed rest seriously. I know I’m all right. I’m a, well, I’m a young man. I feel fine. And it’s always been the case that when my breathing spasms pass off, I’m as well as ever — as healthy as anyone — every bit as fit. I play cricket. I enjoy trekking—’

‘I am afraid,’ said Imtiaz, ‘that the picture is different now. Formerly you were an asthmatic patient. Now, however, the main problem is with the right side of your heart. You will need rest. You would do well to take my advice seriously.’

Pran looked hurt at the formality with which his friend was addressing him, and did not protest any further. Imtiaz had said that the condition was not immediately life-threatening. Pran knew without asking — both from the seriousness of his friend’s demeanour and from his list of possible complications — that it was almost certainly life-shortening in the long run.

When Imtiaz left, Pran tried to face the new fact. But today seemed to be very much like yesterday, and the sudden intrusion of the fact was something that Pran almost felt he could shrug off — like an irrelevant memory or a bad dream. But he was depressed, and found it difficult to conceal this and behave normally with Lata or his mother-in-law or, most of all, with Savita.

That afternoon Pran was moved to the medical college hospital. Savita had insisted on being able to visit him, so he was given one of the few rooms on the ground floor. About half an hour after he came in, it began to rain heavily, and did not let up for a few hours. Pran found that the rain was the best thing for him in these circumstances. It took him out of himself in a way that even reading would not have been able to do. Besides, Imtiaz had told him that on the first day he should not read or exert himself in any other way at all.

The rain came down. It was a continuing event, and yet it was not stimulating: just the combination that Pran needed. In a short while he found himself dozing off.

He woke up to a mosquito bite on his hand.

It was almost seven o’clock, the end of the visiting hour. He noticed, as he opened his eyes and reached for the spectacles on the nightstand, that apart from Savita there was no one else in the room.

‘How are you feeling, darling?’ said Savita.

‘I’ve just been bitten by a mosquito,’ said Pran.

‘Poor darling. Bad mosquitoes.’

‘That’s the problem with a room on the ground floor.’

‘What is?’

‘The mosquitoes.’

‘We’ll close the windows.’

‘Too late, they’re already in.’

‘I’ll get them to spray the room with Flit.’

‘That spray will knock me out as well; I can’t leave the room while they’re doing it.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Savita, why don’t we ever quarrel?’

‘Don’t we?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Well, why should we?’ asked Savita.

‘I don’t know. I feel I’m missing out on something. Now look at Arun and Meenakshi. You tell me they’re always having tiffs. Young couples always have tiffs.’

‘Well, we can have tiffs about the baby’s education.’

‘That’s too long to wait.’

‘Well, about its feeding times. Do go back to sleep, Pran, you’re being very tiresome.’

‘Who’s that card from?’

‘Professor Mishra.’

Pran closed his eyes.

‘And those flowers?’

‘Your mother.’

‘She was here — and no one woke me up?’

‘No. Imtiaz said you were to rest — and we let you rest.’

‘Who else came today? Do you know, I’m feeling rather hungry.’

‘Not many people. Today we were supposed to leave you to yourself.’

‘Oh.’

‘Just to get over things.’

Pran sighed. There was a silence. ‘Food?’

‘Yes, we’ve brought some from the house. Imtiaz warned us that the hospital food is horrible.’

‘Isn’t this the hospital where that boy died — that medical student?’

‘Why are you being so morbid, Pran?’

‘What’s morbid about dying?’

‘Well, I wish you wouldn’t talk about it.’

‘Better to talk about it than to do it,’ said Pran.

‘Do you want me to have a miscarriage?’

‘All right, all right. What’s that you’re reading?’

‘A law-book. Firoz lent it to me.’

‘A law-book?’

‘Yes. It’s interesting.’

‘What’s the subject?’

‘Tort.’

‘Are you thinking of studying law?’

‘Yes, perhaps. You shouldn’t talk so much, Pran, it’s not good for you. Shall I read out a bit of the Brahmpur Chronicle ? The political news?’

‘No, no. Tort!’ Pran began to laugh a little, then started coughing.

‘You see?’ said Savita, moving to the bed to prop him up.

‘You shouldn’t get so worried,’ said Pran.

‘Worried?’ said Savita guiltily.

‘I’m not going to die, you know. Why have you suddenly decided to take up a profession?’

‘Really, Pran — you seem bent on having that tiff. If I take up law it’ll be because Shastri got me interested in it. I want to meet that woman lawyer, Jaya Sood, who practises in the High Court. He told me about her.’

‘You’re about to have a baby; you shouldn’t take up studies immediately,’ said Pran. ‘And think about what my father would say.’

Mahesh Kapoor, who believed in women’s education, did not believe in women working, and made no bones about it.

Savita did not say anything. She folded the Brahmpur Chronicle and swatted a mosquito. ‘Are you ready for dinner?’ she asked Pran.

‘I hope you’re not here by yourself,’ said Pran. ‘I’m surprised your mother let you come here unaccompanied. What if you suddenly feel unwell?’

‘Only one person is allowed to stay beyond visiting hours. And I threatened to kick up a fuss if it wasn’t me. Emotional excitement is very bad for me in my delicate state,’ said Savita.

‘You are extremely stupid and stubborn,’ said Pran tenderly.

‘Yes,’ said Savita. ‘Extremely. But your father’s car is waiting downstairs in case it’s needed. Incidentally, what does your father think about Nehru’s sister, who is a working woman if ever there was one?’

‘Ah,’ said Pran, preferring not to take up the last remark. ‘Fried brinjal. Delicious. Yes, let’s hear a bit of the Brahmpur Chronicle. No, read me a bit of the University Regulations , beginning where that bookmark is. That bit about leave.’

‘What does that have to do with your committee?’ asked Savita, resting the volume on her stomach.

‘Nothing. But I’ll have to take leave, you know, for at least three weeks, and I may as well find out what the rules are. I don’t want to fall into one of Mishra’s traps.’

Savita thought of suggesting that he should forget about the university for a day, but she knew that this was impossible. So she took up the volume and started reading:

‘The following kinds of leave are permissible:

(a) Casual leave

(b) Compensation leave

(c) Deputation leave

(d) Duty leave