Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘You keep repeating my name, like that parakeet,’ said Bibbo. ‘All I get for my kindness to people is trouble.’

‘But you got a kiss from me last time!’ laughed Maan.

Bibbo clearly did not want to be reminded of that. She pouted, Maan thought charmingly.

Saeeda Bai was in a good mood. She, Motu Chand, and an older sarangi player were sitting in her outer chamber, gossiping. Ustad Majeed Khan had recently performed in Banaras, and had been backed up by Ishaq Khan. Ishaq Khan had done well; at all events, he had not shamed his teacher.

‘I’m going to Banaras myself,’ announced Maan, who had heard the tail end of the conversation.

‘And why must the huntsman take himself away from the tame gazelle that, rejoicing, offers itself to his sight?’ asked Saeeda Bai, twirling her hand and blinding Maan with a sudden flash of gem-reflected light.

This was an unlikely description of Saeeda Bai, considering how she had avoided him for the last few days. Maan looked at her eyes, but could read nothing there but the most patent sincerity. Instantly he saw that he had misjudged her: she was as delightful as she had always been, and he was an unperceptive dolt.

Saeeda Bai was exceptionally good to him all evening; it almost appeared as if she were wooing him, not he her. She begged him to forgive her lack of courtesy, as she put it, on the earlier occasion. Many things had conspired to upset her that day. Dagh Sahib should excuse the ignorant saki who had, in her excessive nervousness, poured wine over his innocent hands.

She sang for him like one inspired. And then she sent the musicians away.

The next morning, Maan got to the station just in time to catch the train to Banaras. He was almost puppy-like with happiness. Even the fact that each puff of steam and each circuit of the wheels was taking him further away from Brahmpur did not diminish his pleasure. He smiled to himself from time to time at the memory of the previous evening, with all its endearments and witticisms, all its suspense and fulfilment.

When he got to Banaras, Maan discovered that those who owed him money for goods already received were not delighted to see him. They swore that they had no money at present, that they were moving heaven and earth to pay off their debts, of which his was just one, that the market was moving slowly, that by winter — or next spring at the latest — they envisaged no problem of repayment at all.

Nor did those whose tales of misfortune had led Maan to open his purse now open their purses to him. One young man looked well dressed enough, and appeared to be flourishing. He invited Maan to eat with him in a good restaurant, so that he could explain matters to him at leisure. Maan ended up paying for the meal.

Another man was distantly related to his fiancée’s family. He was eager to drag Maan off to meet them, but Maan pleaded that he had to return to Brahmpur by the early afternoon train. He explained that his brother, who was ill and in hospital, was due to become a father any day now. The man appeared surprised at Maan’s newfound sense of family obligation, but said nothing further. But Maan, feeling on the defensive, could no longer bring himself to mention the subject of his outstanding loan.

One debtor implied in a circuitous and inoffensive way that now that Mahesh Kapoor had resigned as Minister of Revenue in the neighbouring state, Maan’s outstanding loan had stopped preying so frequently or pressingly on his mind.

Maan managed to get back about an eighth of what he had lent, and borrowed about the same amount from various friends and acquaintances. This came to just over two thousand rupees. At first he felt disappointed and disillusioned. But with two thousand rupees in his pocket, and a train ticket back to bliss, he felt that life was pretty good after all.

Tahmina Bai meanwhile visited Saeeda Bai.

Tahmina Bai’s mother had been the madam of the establishment in Tarbuz ka Bazaar where Saeeda Bai and her mother Mohsina Bai had earlier lived.

‘What shall we do? What shall we do?’ cried Tahmina Bai in high excitement. ‘Play chaupar and gossip? Or gossip and play chaupar? Tell your cook to make those delicious kababs, Saeeda. I’ve brought some biryani — I told Bibbo to take it to the kitchen — now tell me, tell me everything. I have so much to tell you—’

After they had played a few games of chaupar, and exchanged endless gossip, together with some more serious news of the world — such as the effect that the Zamindari Act would have on them, especially on Saeeda Bai, who had a better class of customer; and the education of Tasneem; and the health of Tahmina Bai’s mother; and the rising rents and property values, even in Tarbuz ka Bazaar — they turned to the antics of their various clients.

‘I’ll be Marh,’ said Saeeda Bai. ‘You be me.’

‘No, I’ll be Marh,’ said Tahmina Bai. ‘You be me.’ She was giggling away in high delight. She grabbed a flower vase, threw the flowers on to a table, and pretended to drink from it. Soon she was lurching from side to side and grunting. Then she made a lunge for Saeeda Bai, who whipped the pallu of her sari out of reach, ran, screaming ‘toba! toba!’ to the harmonium, and quickly played a descending scale through two octaves.

Tahmina Bai’s eyes grew blurred. As the scale descended, so did she. Soon she was snoring on the carpet. After ten seconds, she heaved her body up, cried ‘wah! wah!’ and collapsed again, this time squealing and snorting with laughter. Then she leapt up again, upsetting a bowl of fruit, and flung herself on Saeeda Bai, who started moaning in ecstasy. With one hand Tahmina Bai reached for an apple and bit it. Then, at the moment of orgasm, she cried for whisky. And finally she rolled over, belched, and went off to sleep again.

They were almost choking with laughter. The parakeet was squawking in alarm.

‘Oh, but his son is even better,’ said Tahmina Bai.

‘No, no,’ said Saeeda Bai, helpless with laughter. ‘I can’t bear it. Stop, Tahmina, stop, stop—’

But Tahmina Bai had begun enacting the Rajkumar’s behaviour on the occasion when he had failed to grace her with his poetry.

Bewildered and protesting, the traumatized Tahmina pulled an imaginary but very drunk friend to his feet. ‘No, no,’ she cried in a terrified voice, ‘no, please, Tahmina Begum — I’ve already, no, no, I’m not in the mood — come, Maan, let’s go.’

Saeeda Bai said: ‘What? Did you say Maan?’

Tahmina Bai was having a giggling fit.

‘But that’s my Dagh Sahib,’ continued Saeeda Bai, amazed.

‘You mean that that was the Minister’s son?’ said Tahmina Bai. ‘The one whom everyone is gossiping about? Balding at the temples.’

‘Yes.’

‘He couldn’t grace me either.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Saeeda Bai.

‘Be careful, Saeeda,’ said Tahmina Bai affectionately. ‘Think of what your mother would say.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ said Saeeda Bai. ‘I entertain them; he entertains me. It’s like Miya Mitthu here; I’m not a fool.’

And she followed it up with quite a good imitation of Maan making desperate love.

The first thing Maan did when he got back to Brahmpur was to phone Prem Nivas to find out about Savita. She had been as good as her word. The baby was still inside her, unexposed as yet to the joys and woes of Brahmpur.

It was too late for Maan to visit Pran in hospital; humming to himself, he wandered along to Saeeda Bai’s. The watchman looked rather abstracted tonight; he knocked at the door, and held a consultation with Bibbo. Bibbo glanced at Maan, who was standing eagerly at the gate, then turned back to the watchman and shook her head.