Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

A residue is all it is, however, because for most of the year one would not suspect Brahma to be a presence in Brahmpur at all. It is his rivals — or colleagues — of the trinity who hold the limelight. The Pul Mela or the Chandrachur Temple speak of the power of Shiva, whether as the source of the Ganga or as the great sensual ascetic symbolized by the linga. As for Vishnu: the notable presence of numerous Krishna devotees (such as Sanaki Baba) and the fervent celebration (by those like Mrs Mahesh Kapoor) of Janamashtami bear witness to his presence as Krishna; and his presence as Rama is unmistakable not only during Ramnavami early in the year but during the nine nights culminating in Dussehra, when Brahmpur is part of an island of Rama worship in a sea of goddess worship that extends from Bengal to Gujarat.

Why Brahma, the Self-Created or Egg-born, the overseer of sacrifice, the Supreme Creator, the old four-faced god who set in motion the triple world, should have suffered eclipse over the centuries is unclear. At one time even Shiva is shown cringing in the Mahabharata before him; and it is from a common root with Brahma himself that the words not only for ‘brahmin’ but also for ‘brahman’, the world-soul, derive. But by the time of the late Puranas, not to mention modern times, his influence had waned to a shadow.

Perhaps it was because — unlike Shiva or Rama or Krishna or Durga or Kali — he was never associated with youth or beauty or terror, those well-springs of personal devotion. Perhaps it was because he was too far above suffering and yearning to satisfy the longing of the heart for an identifiably human ideal or intercessor — one perhaps who had come down to earth to suffer with the rest of mankind in order that righteousness might be established. Perhaps it was because certain myths surrounding him — for instance his creation of mankind by intercourse with his own daughter — were too difficult to accept by a constant following over long ages and changing mores.

Or perhaps it was that, refusing to be turned on and off like a tap by requests for intercession, Brahma at last refused to deliver what was asked of him by millions of upraised hands, and therefore fell out of favour. It is rare for religious feeling to be entirely transcendent, and Hindus as much as anyone else, perhaps more so, are eager for terrestrial, not merely post-terrestrial, blessings. We want specific results, whether to cure a child of disease or to guarantee his IAS results, whether to ensure the birth of a son or to find a suitable match for a daughter. We go to a temple to be blessed by our chosen deity before a journey, and have our account books sanctified by Kali or Saraswati. At Divali, the words ‘shubh laabh’—auspicious profit — are seen on the walls of every newly whitewashed shop; while Lakshmi, the presiding goddess, smiles from a poster as she sits on her lotus, serene and beautiful, dispensing gold coins from one of her four arms.

It must be admitted that there are those, mainly Shaivites and Vaishnavites, who claim that Brahmpur has nothing to do with the god Brahma at all — that the name is a corruption of Bahrampur or Brahminpur or Berhampur or some other such name, whether Islamic or Hindu. But for one reason or another these theories may be discarded. The evidence of coins, of inscriptions, of historical records and travellers’ accounts from Hsuen Tsang to Al-Biruni, from Babur to Tavernier, not to mention those of British travellers, provide ample evidence of the ancient name of the city.

It should be mentioned in passing that the spelling Brumpore, which the British insisted on imposing on the city, was converted back to its more phonetic transcription when the name of the state itself was changed to Purva Pradesh under the Protected Provinces (Alteration of Name) Order, 1949, which came into operation a few months before the commencement of the Constitution. The spelling Brumpore was the source, however, of not a few errors by amateur etymologists during the two centuries of its prevalence.

There are even a few misguided souls who assert that the name Brahmpur is a variant of Bhrampur — the city of illusion or error. But the proper response to this hypothesis is that there are always people willing to believe anything, however implausible, merely in order to be contrary.

‘Pran darling, please turn off that light.’

The switch was near the door.

Pran yawned. ‘Oh, I’m too sleepy,’ was his response.

‘But I can’t sleep with it on,’ said Savita.

‘What if I had been sitting in the other room, working late? Wouldn’t you have been able to do it yourself?’

‘Yes, of course, darling,’ yawned Savita, ‘but you’re closer to the door.’

Pran got out of bed, switched off the light, and staggered back.

‘The moment Pran darling appears,’ he said, ‘a use is found for him.’

‘Pran, you’re so lovable,’ said Savita.

‘Of course! Anyone would be who dances attendance. But when Malati Trivedi finds me lovable. . ’

‘As long as you don’t find her lovable. . ’

And they drifted off to sleep.

At two in the morning the phone rang.

The insistent double ring pierced their dreams. Pran woke up with a shock. The baby woke up and started crying. Savita hushed her.

‘Good heavens! Who could that be?’ cried Savita, startled. ‘It’ll wake up the whole house — at — what’s the time? — I hope it’s nothing serious—’

Pran had stumbled out of the room.

‘Hello?’ he said, picking up the receiver. ‘Hello, Pran Kapoor here.’

There was the sound of thick breathing at the other end. Then a voice rasped out:

‘Good! This is Marh.’

‘Yes?’ said Pran, trying to keep his voice low. Savita had got out of bed. He shook his head to reassure her that it was nothing serious and when she returned to bed he closed the dining room door.

‘This is Marh! The Raja of Marh.’

‘Yes, yes, I understand. Yes, Your Highness, what can I do for you?’

‘You know exactly what you can do for me.’

‘I am sorry, Your Highness, but if this is about your son’s expulsion, there’s nothing I can tell you. You’ve received a letter from the university—’

‘You — you — do you know who I am?’

‘Perfectly, Your Highness. Now it is somewhat late—’

‘You listen to me, if you don’t want something to happen to you — or to someone who matters to you. You rescind that order.’

‘Your Highness, I—’

‘Just because of some prank — and I know that your brother is just as — my son tells me he turned him upside down and shook the money out of his pockets when he was gambling — you tell your brother — and your land-robbing father—’

‘My father?’

‘Your whole family needs to be taught a lesson—’

The baby started to cry again. A note of fury appeared in the voice of the Raja of Marh.

‘Is that your baby?’

Pran was silent.

‘Did you hear me?’

‘Your Highness, I would like to forget this conversation. But if you phone me up again at this hour without cause, or if I receive any further threats from you, I will have to report the matter to the police.’

‘Without cause? — you expel my son for a prank—’

‘Your Highness, this was not some prank. The university authorities made the facts quite clear in their letter to you. Taking part in a communal riot is not a prank. Your son is lucky that he is still alive and out of jail.’

‘He must graduate. He must. He has bathed in the Ganga — he is now a snaatak.’

‘That was somewhat premature,’ Pran said, trying to keep the scorn out of his voice. ‘And your distress on that count cannot be expected to outweigh the decision of the committee. Goodnight, Your Highness.’