Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

Begum Abida Khan: I am not talking about ideals and about what Gandhiji planned. I am talking about facts and what is happening all around us. Listen to All India Radio and try to understand its news bulletins. Read the Hindi versions of our bills and acts — or if, like me and other Muslims and even many Hindus of this province, you cannot read them, then have them read out to you. You will not understand one word in three. It is all becoming stupidly and stiltedly Sanskritized. Obscure words are being dug out of old religious texts and being reburied in our modern language. It is a plot of the religious fundamentalists who hate anything to do with Islam, even Arabic or Persian words that the common people of Brahmpur have used for hundreds of years.

The Hon’ble the Minister for Home Affairs (Shri L.N. Agarwal): The honourable member has a gift for fantasy that excites my admiration. But she is, as usual, thinking from right to left.

Begum Abida Khan: How dare you speak like that? How dare you? I would like full-fledged Sanskrit to be made the official language of the state — then you too will see! One day it will be full-fledged Sanskrit that you will be forced to read and speak, and it will make you clutch at your hair even harder. Then you too will be made to feel a stranger in your own land. So it will be better if Sanskrit is made the official language. Then both Hindu and Muslim boys will have an equal start and be able to compete on an equal footing.

The debate proceeded in this manner, with importunate waves of protest washing over an adamant sea wall. Finally, closure was moved by a member of the Congress Party and the House rose for the day.

Just outside the chamber Mahesh Kapoor collared his old Parliamentary Secretary.

‘So, you rogue, you’re still with the Congress.’

Abdus Salaam turned around, pleased to hear the voice of his ex-Minister.

‘We must talk about that,’ he said, glancing a little to left and right.

‘We haven’t talked for a long time, it seems to me — ever since I’ve been in the opposition.’

‘It isn’t that, Minister Sahib—’

‘Ah, at least you call me by my old title.’

‘But of course. It’s just that you’ve been away — in Baitar. Associating with zamindars, I hear,’ Abdus Salaam couldn’t help adding.

‘Didn’t you go back home for Id?’

‘Yes, that’s true. We’ve both been away, then. And before that I was in Delhi for the AICC meeting. But now we can talk. Let’s go to the canteen.’

‘And eat those fearful greasy samosas? You young people have stronger stomachs than us.’ Mahesh Kapoor appeared, despite everything, to be in a good mood.

Abdus Salaam was in fact quite fond of the greasy samosas that the canteen provided as one of its snacks. ‘But where else can we go, Minister Sahib? Your office, alas—’ He smiled regretfully.

Mahesh Kapoor laughed. ‘When I left the Cabinet, Sharma should have made you a Minister of State. Then you at least would have had an office of your own. What’s the point of remaining a Parliamentary Secretary if there’s no one to be secretary to?’

Abdus Salaam too started laughing in a gentle way. He was a scholarly rather than an ambitious man, and he often wondered how he had strayed into politics and why he had remained there. But he had discovered he had a sleepwalker’s flair for it.

He thought about Mahesh Kapoor’s last remark. ‘If nothing else, there’s a subject to handle,’ he responded. ‘The Chief Minister has left me free to manage that.’

‘But until the Supreme Court decides the matter there’s nothing you can do about it,’ said Mahesh Kapoor. ‘And even after they’ve decided whether the First Amendment is valid or not the zamindars’ appeal against the High Court judgement about the act itself will have to be decided. And any action is bound to be stayed till then.’

‘It’s only a question of time; we’ll win both cases,’ said Abdus Salaam, looking into the vague middle distance as he sometimes did when thinking. ‘And by then no doubt you will be Minister of Revenue again — if not something even better. Anything could happen. Sharma could be kicked upwards to the Cabinet in Delhi, and Agarwal could be murdered by one of Begum Abida Khan’s glances. And since you would be back in the Congress you would be the obvious choice for Chief Minister.’

‘Do you think so?’ said Mahesh Kapoor, looking at his protégé piercingly. ‘Do you think so? If you are doing nothing better, let’s go home for a cup of tea. I like these dreams of yours.’

‘Yes, I have been dreaming a lot — and sleeping a lot — these days,’ said Abdus Salaam cryptically.

They continued to talk as they strolled along to Prem Nivas.

‘Why did you not intervene in the discussion this afternoon, Minister Sahib?’ asked Abdus Salaam.

‘Why? You know the reason perfectly well. I can’t read a word of Hindi, and I don’t want attention drawn to the fact. I’m popular enough among the Muslims — it’s the Hindu vote that will be my problem.’

‘Even if you rejoin the Congress?’

‘Even if I rejoin the Congress.’

‘Do you plan to?’

‘That is what I want to talk over with you.’

‘I might be the wrong person to talk to.’

‘Why?’ asked Mahesh Kapoor. ‘Surely you’re not thinking of leaving it?’

‘That’s what I want to talk over with you.’

‘Well,’ said Mahesh Kapoor thoughtfully, ‘this will require several cups of tea.’

Abdus Salaam did not know how to make small talk, so hardly had he sipped his tea than he plunged straight in with a question.

‘Do you really think that Nehru is back in the saddle?’

‘Do you really doubt it?’ countered Mahesh Kapoor.

‘In a way I do,’ said Abdus Salaam. ‘Look at this Hindu Code Bill. It was a great defeat for him.’

‘Well,’ said Mahesh Kapoor, ‘not necessarily. Not if he wins the next election. Then he’ll treat it as a mandate. In a way he’s made certain of that, because it’s now become an election issue.’

‘You can’t say he intended that. He simply wanted to pass the bill into law.’

‘I don’t disagree with that,’ said Mahesh Kapoor, stirring his cup.

‘And he couldn’t hold his own MPs, let alone Parliament, together to pass it. Everyone knows what the President of India thinks of the bill. Even if Parliament had passed it, would he have signed it?’

‘That is a separate issue,’ said Mahesh Kapoor.

‘You’re right about that,’ admitted Abdus Salaam. ‘The question in my mind, though, is one of grip and timing. Why place the bill before Parliament when there was so little time to argue it? A few discussions, a filibuster, and it was bound to die.’

Mahesh Kapoor nodded. He was thinking about something else too. It was the fortnight for the performance of shraadh, the rites to appease the spirits of one’s dead. Mahesh Kapoor could never be prevailed upon to perform these rites, and this upset Mrs Mahesh Kapoor. And immediately after this fortnight came the nights of the Ramlila leading up to the fiery celebration of Dussehra. This was the great Hindu festive season, and it would continue till Divali. Nehru could not possibly have chosen a worse time, psychologically speaking, to introduce a bill that attempted to upset Hindu law and transform Hindu society.

Abdus Salaam, after waiting for Mahesh Kapoor to speak, continued: ‘You saw what happened in the Assembly, you can see how the L.N. Agarwals of this world continue to operate. No matter what happens at the Centre, that is the shape of things to come in the states. At least, so I think. I do not see much changing. The people who have their hands on the party levers — people like Sharma and Agarwal — will not easily let Nehru prise them off. Look at how quickly they’re rushing to form their election committees and to start their selection of candidates in the states. Poor Nehru — he is like a rich merchant, who, after crossing the seas, is drowned in a little stream.’