Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘Imtiaz, you must call Zainab,’ said the Nawab Sahib.

‘I’ll do that at once, Abba. Dr Bhatia, we cannot thank you enough.’

‘Not at all, not at all. I only hope they get whoever did this. A single incision, the work of a second, and I don’t mind telling you, Dr Khan, if they hadn’t brought him to us directly, we would not have been able to save him. Indeed—’ He stopped.

‘Indeed, what?’ said Imtiaz sharply.

‘Indeed, it’s odd that what one person does in a second can take seven of us — and all this — three hours to undo.’

‘What did he say?’ said the Nawab Sahib to Imtiaz when Dr Bhatia had taken his leave. ‘What did they do to Firoz?’

‘Nothing very exciting, Abba,’ said Imtiaz, attempting reassurance. ‘They cut out the injured parts of his intestinal loops, and joined the healthy parts together again. But we have yards and yards of the stuff, so Firoz won’t miss what he’s lost.’

In the event, his reply sounded flippant, and far from reassuring to his father.

‘So he’s all right?’ said the Nawab Sahib, searching Imtiaz’s face.

Imtiaz paused, then said: ‘His chances are good, Abba. There were no complications. The only concern now is infection, and we can deal with that much better now than we could just a few years ago. Don’t worry. I am sure he will be well. Inshallah.’

The Sub-Inspector would have followed up the trail of Firoz’s words the next morning if it had not been the case that a trail of his blood led to within a few yards of Saeeda Bai’s gate. When informed of this, he decided to act at once. Together with Bihari and another constable, he arrived at Saeeda Bai’s door. The watchman, who had been questioned in a threatening manner by the policemen earlier, and who had himself been perplexed and worried by the events of the night, admitted that he had seen both the Nawabzada and Kapoor Sahib from Prem Nivas earlier in the evening, as well as Dr Bilgrami.

‘We will need to speak with Saeeda Bai,’ said the Sub-Inspector.

‘Daroga Sahib, why not wait till morning?’ suggested the watchman.

‘Did you not hear me?’ said the Sub-Inspector, smoothing his moustache like a movie villain.

The watchman knocked and waited. There was no reply. He rapped at the door a few times with the blunt end of his spear. Bibbo emerged, saw the police, shut the door promptly and latched it.

‘Let us in at once,’ said the Sub-Inspector, ‘or we will break down the door. We have questions to ask you about a murder.’

Bibbo opened the door again. Her face was white. ‘A murder?’ she said.

‘Well, an attempt at it. You know what we are talking about. It’s pointless to deny it. The Nawab’s son might have been dead by now but for our prompt action. For all we know he might be dead anyway. We want to talk with you.’

‘I know nothing—’

‘He was here this evening, and so was Kapoor.’

‘Oh — Dagh Sahib,’ said Bibbo, looking daggers at the watchman, who shrugged his shoulders.

‘Is Saeeda Bai awake?’

‘Saeeda Begum is taking her rest, as any respectable citizen of Brahmpur would be doing at this time of night.’

The Sub-Inspector laughed. ‘As any respectable citizen—’ Again he laughed, and the constables joined in. ‘Wake her up. We have to speak with her here. Unless she would like to come down to the police station.’

Bibbo made a quick decision. She closed the door once again, and disappeared. About five minutes later, during which time the Sub-Inspector asked the watchman a few questions, she came out again.

‘Saeeda Begum will see you upstairs. But she has a bad throat, and cannot speak.’ Saeeda Bai’s room was, as always, in impeccable order, with a clean white sheet laid out on the floor. There was no bowl of fruit, no fruit knife. The three khaki uniforms contrasted absurdly with the scent of attar of roses.

Saeeda Bai had dressed hastily in a green sari. Her throat was wrapped around with a dupatta. Her voice was a croak, and she tried to avoid speaking. Her smile was as charming as ever.

At first she denied that there had been any quarrel. But when the Sub-Inspector said that Firoz had mentioned Prem Nivas, and that his presence at Saeeda Bai’s had been corroborated not only by the watchman, who had described his crippled bearing when he had emerged from the house, but also by the physical evidence of an irregular trail of blood, she saw that denial was useless. She agreed that there had been a fight.

‘Where did it take place?’

‘In this room.’

‘Why is there no blood here?’

Saeeda Bai did not answer.

‘What was the weapon?’

Saeeda Bai remained silent.

‘Answer these questions, please. Or else come down to the police station and make your statement there. In any case, we will ask you to confirm these statements in writing tomorrow.’

‘It was a fruit knife.’

‘Where is it?’

‘He took it with him.’

‘Who did? The attacker or the victim?’

‘Dagh Sahib,’ she managed to croak out. Her hands went to her throat and she looked pleadingly at the policeman.

‘What is all this about Prem Nivas?’

Bibbo intervened: ‘Please, Sub-Inspector Sahib, Saeeda Begum can hardly speak. She has been singing so much, and the weather has been so bad these last few days, what with the dust and the mist, that her throat is very sore.’

‘What is all this about Prem Nivas?’ insisted the Sub-Inspector.

Saeeda Bai shook her head.

‘That is where Kapoor lives, is it not?’

Saeeda Bai nodded.

‘It is the Minister Sahib’s house,’ added Bibbo.

‘And what is all this about a sister?’ asked the Sub-Inspector.

Saeeda Bai’s body went rigid for a moment, and she began to tremble. Bibbo gave her a sharp and puzzled glance. Saeeda Bai had turned away. Her shoulders were shaking, and she was crying. But she did not say a word.

‘What is all this about a sister?’ repeated the policeman with a yawn.

Saeeda Bai shook her head.

‘Haven’t you had enough?’ cried Bibbo. ‘Haven’t you had enough of torturing Saeeda Begum? Why can’t this wait till morning? We will complain to the SP about this. Disturbing decent and respectable citizens—’

The Sub-Inspector did not mention that the SP had told him to treat this case like any other, but with greater urgency and dispatch. Nor did he make a sarcastic comment, though it did come to his mind, about decent and respectable citizens stabbing each other in their salons.

But perhaps this specific line of questioning could wait till morning, he thought. Even if matters were not entirely clear, it now was obvious enough to him that Maan Kapoor, the younger son of Mahesh Kapoor, had perpetrated the attack on the Nawabzada. But the Sub-Inspector was in two minds about whether to attempt to arrest him tonight. On the one hand, Prem Nivas, like Baitar House, was one of the great houses of Pasand Bagh, and Mahesh Kapoor one of the great names of the province. For a mere Sub-Inspector to think of rousing that august household in the early hours — and for such a purpose — could be interpreted as the greatest insolence and disrespect. But on the other hand the case was a most serious one. Even if the victim lived, the facts spoke of an attempt at culpable homicide, possibly attempted murder, and certainly grievous hurt.

He had already gone over several levels of authority to telephone the SP earlier in the night. He could not wake him up now to ask him for further instructions. An additional consideration occurred to the Sub-Inspector and determined his course of action. There was, in cases such as these, the danger of the criminal panicking and absconding. He decided to make the arrest at once.