Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘But why do you think it is such a good idea?’ Mahesh Kapoor was asking.

A servant offered the Nawab Sahib some fruit — including sharifas, whose short season had just begun — but the Nawab Sahib refused them. Then he changed his mind, felt three or four sharifas and selected one. He broke the knobbly fruit in half and scooped out the delicious white pulp with a spoon, placing the black seeds (which he transferred from his mouth to the spoon) on the side of his plate. For a minute or two he said nothing. Mahesh Kapoor helped himself to a sharifa as well.

‘It is like this, Kapoor Sahib,’ said the Nawab Sahib, thoughtfully, putting together the two equal scooped-out halves of his sharifa and then separating them. ‘If you look at the population in this constituency, it is about evenly divided between Muslims and Hindus. This is just the kind of place where Hindu communalist parties can whip people into an anti-Muslim panic. They have already begun to do so. And every day there are fresh reasons for Hindus and Muslims to learn to hate each other. If it isn’t some idiocy in Pakistan — some threat to Kashmir, some plot, real or imagined, to divert the waters of the Sutlej or to capture Sheikh Abdullah or to impose a tax on Hindus — it is one of our own home-grown brilliances like the dispute over that mosque in Ayodhya which has suddenly flared up again recently after lying quiet for decades — or our own Brahmpur version, which is different — but not so vastly different. Bakr-Id is coming up in a few days; someone is certain to kill a cow somewhere instead of a goat, and there’ll be fresh trouble. And, worst of all, Moharram and Dussehra will coincide this year.’

Mahesh Kapoor nodded, and the Nawab Sahib continued. ‘I know that this house was one of the strongholds of the Muslim League. I have never held with my father’s or my brother’s views on the subject, but people do not discriminate in these matters. To men like Agarwal the very name of Baitar is like a red rag — or perhaps a green one — to a bull. Next week he will try to force his Hindi bill through the Legislative Assembly, and Urdu, my language, the language of Mast, the language of most of the Muslims of this province, will be made more useless than ever. Who can protect us and our culture? Only people like you, who know us as we are, who have friends among us, who do not prejudge us because you can judge us from experience.’

Mahesh Kapoor did not say anything, but he was moved by the trust reposed in him by the Nawab Sahib.

The Nawab Sahib frowned, divided his black sharifa pips into two separate piles with his spoon, and went on. ‘Perhaps it is worse in this part of the country than elsewhere. This was the heartland of the struggle for Pakistan, this is where much of the bitterness was created, but those of us who have not been able to or have chosen not to leave our homeland are now a smaller minority in a predominantly Hindu territory. No matter what troubles rage around us, I will probably manage to keep my head above water; so will Firoz and Imtiaz and Zainab — those who have means always manage somehow. But most of the ordinary people I talk to are downcast and fearful; they feel beleaguered. They mistrust the majority, and they feel mistrusted by them. I wish you would fight from here, Kapoor Sahib. Quite apart from my support, I hear that your son has made himself popular in the Salimpur area.’ The Nawab Sahib allowed himself a smile. ‘What do you think?’

‘Why don’t you stand for election yourself?’ asked Mahesh Kapoor. ‘Quite frankly, I would rather stand, if I have to, from my old urban constituency of Misri Mandi, redrawn though it has been — or, if it has to be a rural one, from Rudhia West, where my farm is located. Salimpur-cum-Baitar is too unfamiliar. I have no personal standing here — and no personal scores to settle.’ Mahesh Kapoor thought for a moment of Jha, then continued: ‘It’s you who should stand. You would win hands down.’

The Nawab Sahib nodded. ‘I have thought about it,’ he said slowly. ‘But I am not a politician. I have my work — if nothing else, my literary work. I would not enjoy sitting in the Legislative Assembly. I have been there and I have heard the proceedings and, well, I am not suited for that kind of life. And I’m not sure I would win hands down. For a start, the Hindu vote would be a problem for me. And, most importantly, I just couldn’t go around Baitar and the villages asking people for votes — at least I could not do that for myself. I would not be able to bring myself to do that.’

He looked up again, rather wearily, at the sword-bearing portrait on the wall before continuing: ‘But I am keen that a decent, a suitable man wins from here. Apart from the Hindu Mahasabha and that lot, there is someone here whom I have been good to and who hates me as a result. He plans to try to get the local Congress ticket, and if he becomes the local MLA, he can do me all kinds of harm. I have already decided to nominate a candidate of my own who will fight as an Independent in case this man does get the Congress nomination. But if you stand — whether from this KMPP or from the Congress, or as an Independent — I will make sure that you get my support. And that of my candidate.’

‘He must be a very compliant candidate,’ said Mahesh Kapoor, smiling. ‘Or a self-abnegating one. A rare thing in politics.’

‘You met him briefly when we got down from the jeep,’ said the Nawab Sahib. ‘It’s that fellow Waris.’

‘Waris!’ Mahesh Kapoor laughed out loud. ‘That servant of yours, that groom or whatever, the unshaven chap who went off hunting with Firoz and my son?’

‘Yes,’ said the Nawab Sahib.

‘What kind of MLA do you think he would make?’

‘Better than the one he’d displace.’

‘You mean, better a fool than a knave.’

‘Better a yokel, certainly.’

‘You’re not serious about Waris.’

‘Don’t underestimate him,’ said the Nawab Sahib. ‘He may be a bit crude, but he’s capable and he’s tough. He sees things in black and white, which is a great help when you’re electioneering. He would enjoy campaigning, whether for himself or for you. He’s popular around these parts. Women think he’s dashing. He’s absolutely loyal to me and the family, especially to Firoz. He would do anything for us. I really mean that — he keeps threatening to shoot people who have done us harm.’ Mahesh Kapoor looked a little alarmed. ‘Incidentally, he likes Maan; he took him around the estate when he was here. And the only reason he’s unshaven is because he doesn’t shave from the sighting of the new moon till Bakr-Id, ten days later. Not that he’s all that religious,’ added the Nawab Sahib, with a mixture of disapproval and indulgence. ‘But if he doesn’t have to shave for one reason or another, he feels that he may as well take advantage of the dispensation.’

‘Hmm,’ said Mahesh Kapoor.

‘Think about it.’

‘I will. I will think about it. But where I stand from is only one of three questions in my mind.’

‘What are the other two?’

‘Well — which party?’

‘Congress,’ said the Nawab Sahib, naming without hesitation the party which had done so much to dispossess him.

‘Do you think so?’ said Mahesh Kapoor. ‘Do you think so?’

The Nawab Sahib nodded, looked at the debris on his plate, then rose. ‘And your third question?’

‘Whether I should continue in politics at all.’

The Nawab Sahib looked at his old friend in disbelief. ‘It’s something you ate this morning,’ he said. ‘Or else a piece of wax in my ear.’

Waris, meanwhile, was having a fine time away from his standard duties in the Fort and the officious eye of the munshi. He galloped happily along; and although he took with him the gun that he had obtained a licence for, he did not use it, since the hunt was not his prerogative. Maan and Firoz enjoyed the ride as much as the hunting; and there was enough game for them to spot or follow even though they did not actively seek it out. The part of the estate through which they rode was a mixture of firm woodland, rocky soil, and what in this season was sporadic marsh. Early in the afternoon, Maan saw a herd of nilgai splashing through the edge of the marsh at a distance. He aimed, fired, missed, and cursed himself good-naturedly. Later, Firoz got a large spotted deer with magnificent antlers. Waris noted the spot, and when they passed a small hamlet not far away he told one of the local men to get it to the Fort on a cart by the evening.