Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘No,’ said Veena. ‘Tell me.’

‘I was just going to. Bablu, who is getting crazier by the minute, placed the Rai Bahadur’s alarm clocks on the ledge. Well, the next thing we saw was three monkeys in the pipal tree, examining them, saying, “Mmmmmmm”, “Mmmmmmmm”, in a high-pitched voice, as if to say, “Well? We have your clocks. What now?” The witch went out. We didn’t have the little packets of wheat which we usually bribe them with, so she took some musammis and bananas and carrots and tried to tempt them down, saying, “Here, here, come, beautiful ones, come, come, I swear by Hanuman I’ll give you lovely things to eat. . ” And they came down all right, one by one they came down, very cautiously, each with a clock tucked beneath his arm. Then they began to eat the food, first with one hand, like this — then, putting the clocks down, with both hands. Well — no sooner were all three clocks on the ground than the witch took a stick which she had hidden behind her back and threatened their lives with it — using such filthy language that I was forced to admire her. The carrot and the stick, don’t they say in English? So the story has a happy ending. But the monkeys of Shahi Darvaza are very smart. They know what they can hold up to ransom, and what they can’t.’

Bablu had come up the stairs, gripping with four dirty fingers of one hand four glasses of cold nimbu pani filled almost to the brim. ‘Here!’ he said, setting them down. ‘Drink! If you sit in the sun like this, you’ll catch pneumonia.’ Then he disappeared.

‘The same as ever?’ asked Veena.

‘The same, but even more so,’ said Priya. ‘Nothing changes. The only comforting constant here is that Vakil Sahib snores as loudly as ever. Sometimes at night when the bed vibrates, I think he’ll disappear, and all that will be left for me to weep over will be his snore. But I can’t tell you some of the things that go on in this house,’ she added darkly. ‘You’re lucky you don’t have much money. What people will do for money, Veena, I can’t tell you. And what does it go into? Not into education or art or music or literature — no, it all goes into jewellery. And the women of the house have to wear ten tons of it on their necks at every wedding. And you should see them all sizing each other up. Oh, Veena—’ she said, suddenly realizing her insensitivity, ‘I have a habit of blabbering. Tell me to be quiet.’

‘No, no, I’m enjoying it,’ said Veena. ‘But tell me, when the jeweller comes to your house next time will you be able to get an estimate? For the small pieces — and, well, especially for my navratan? Will you be able to get a few minutes with him alone so that your mother-in-law doesn’t come to know? If I had to go to a jeweller myself I’d certainly be cheated. But you know all about these things.’

Priya nodded. ‘I’ll try,’ she said. The navratan was a lovely piece; she had last seen it round Veena’s neck at Pran and Savita’s wedding. It consisted of an arc of nine square gold compartments, each the setting of a different precious stone, with delicate enamel work at the sides and even on the back, where it could not be seen. Topaz, white sapphire, emerald, blue sapphire, ruby, diamond, pearl, cat’s eye and coral: instead of looking cluttered and disordered, the heavy necklace had a wonderful combination of traditional solidity and charm. For Veena it had more than that: of all her mother’s gifts it was the one she loved most.

‘I think our fathers are mad to dislike each other so much,’ said Priya out of the blue. ‘Who cares who the next Chief Minister of Purva Pradesh will be?’

Veena nodded as she sipped her nimbu pani.

‘What news of Maan?’ asked Priya.

They gossiped on: Maan and Saeeda Bai; the Nawab Sahib’s daughter and whether her situation in purdah was worse than Priya’s; Savita’s pregnancy; even, at second-hand, Mrs Rupa Mehra, and how she was trying to corrupt her samdhins by teaching them rummy.

They had forgotten about the world. But suddenly Bablu’s large head and rounded shoulders appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Oh my God,’ said Priya with a start. ‘My duties in the kitchen — since I’ve been talking to you, they’ve gone straight out of my head. My mother-in-law must have finished her stupid rigmarole of cooking her own food in a wet dhoti after her bath, and she’s yelling for me. I’ve got to run. She does it for purity, so she says — though she doesn’t mind that we have cockroaches the size of buffaloes running around all over the house, and rats that bite off your hair at night if you don’t wash the oil off. Oh, do stay for lunch, Veena, I never get to see you!’

‘I really can’t,’ said Veena. ‘The Sleeper likes his food just so. And so does the Snorer, I’m sure.’

‘Oh, he’s not so particular,’ said Priya, frowning. ‘He puts up with all my nonsense. But I can’t go out, I can’t go out, I can’t go out anywhere except for weddings and the odd trip to the temple or a religious fair and you know what I think of those. If he wasn’t so good, I would go completely mad. Wife-beating is something of a common sport in our neighbourhood, you aren’t considered much of a man if you don’t slap your wife around a couple of times, but Ram Vilas wouldn’t even beat a drum at Dussehra. And he’s so respectful to the witch it makes me sick, though she’s only his stepmother. They say he’s so nice to witnesses that they tell him the truth — even though they’re in court! Well, if you can’t stay, you must come tomorrow. Promise me again.’

Veena promised, and the two friends went down to the room on the top floor. Priya’s daughter and son were sitting on the bed, and they informed Veena that Bhaskar had gone back home.

‘What? By himself?’ said Veena anxiously.

‘He’s nine years old, and it’s five minutes away,’ said the boy.

‘Shh!’ said Priya. ‘Speak properly to your elders.’

‘I’d better go at once,’ said Veena.

On the way down, Veena met L.N. Agarwal coming up. The stairs were narrow and steep. She pressed herself against the wall and said namaste. He acknowledged the greeting with a ‘Jeeti raho, beti’, and went up.

But though he had addressed her as ‘daughter’, Veena felt that he had been reminded the instant he saw her of the ministerial rival whose daughter she really was.

‘Is the Government aware that the Brahmpur Police made a lathi charge on the members of the jatav community last week when they demonstrated in front of the Govind Shoe Mart?’

The Minister for Home Affairs, Shri L.N. Agarwal, got to his feet.

‘There was no lathi charge,’ he replied.

‘Mild lathi charge, if you like. Is the Government aware of the incident I am referring to?’

The Home Minister looked across the well of the great circular chamber, and stated calmly:

‘There was no lathi charge in the usual sense. The police were forced to use light canes, one inch thick, when the unruly crowd had stoned and manhandled several members of the public and one policeman, and when it was apparent that the safety of the Govind Shoe Mart, and of the public, and of the policemen themselves was seriously threatened.’

He stared at his interrogator, Ram Dhan, a short, dark, pockmarked man in his forties, who asked his questions — in standard Hindi but with a strong Brahmpuri accent — with his arms folded across his chest.

‘Is it a fact,’ continued the questioner, ‘that on the same evening, the police beat up a large number of jatavs who were peacefully attempting to picket the Brahmpur Shoe Mart nearby?’ Shri Ram Dhan was an Independent MLA from the scheduled castes, and he stressed the word ‘jatavs’. A kind of indignant murmur rose from all around the House. The Speaker called for order, and the Home Minister stood up again.