Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

‘There should be an adjournment motion on this,’ cried another.

‘The Speaker already has such a notice with him,’ said a third.

Over all this rose the piercing voice of Begum Abida Khan: ‘It was as brutal as the violence of Partition. A youth was killed who was not even part of the demonstration. Would the honourable Minister for Home Affairs care to explain how this happened?’ She sat down and glared.

‘Demonstration?’ said L.N. Agarwal with an air of forensic triumph.

‘Crowd, rather—’ said the battling Begum, leaping up again and slipping out of his coils. ‘You are not going to deny, surely, that it was the time of prayer? The demonstration — the demonstration of gross inhumanity, for that is what it was — was on the part of the police. Now will the honourable Minister not take refuge in semantics and deal with the facts.’

When he saw the wretched woman get up again, the Home Minister felt a stab of hatred in his heart. She was a thorn in his flesh and had insulted and humiliated him before the House and he now decided that, come what may, he was going to get back at her and her house — the family of the Nawab Sahib of Baitar. They were all fanatics, these Muslims, who appeared not to realize they were here in this country on sufferance. A calm dose of well-applied law would do them good.

‘I can only answer one question at a time,’ L.N. Agarwal said in a dangerous growl.

‘The supplementary questions of the honourable member who asked the starred questions will take precedence,’ said the Speaker.

Begum Abida Khan smiled grimly.

The Home Minister said: ‘We must wait till the report is published. Government is not aware that an innocent youth was fired upon, let alone injured or killed.’

Now Abdus Salaam stood up again. From around the House outraged cries rose: ‘Sit down, sit down.’ ‘Shame!’ ‘Why are you attacking your own side?’

‘Why should he sit down?’ ‘What have you got to hide?’ ‘You are a Congress member — you should know better.’

But so unprecedented was the situation that even those who opposed his intervention were curious.

When the cries had died down to a sort of volatile muttering, Abdus Salaam, still looking rather puzzled, asked: ‘What I have been wondering about during the course of this discussion is, well, why was a deterrent police force — well, maybe just an adequate police force — not maintained at the site of the temple? Then there would have been no need to fire in this panicky manner.’

The Home Minister drew in his breath. Everyone is looking at me, he thought. I must control my expression.

‘Is this supplementary question addressed to the honourable Minister?’ asked the Speaker.

‘Yes, it is, Sir,’ said Abdus Salaam, suddenly determined. ‘I will not withdraw this question. Would the honourable Minister inform us why there was not a sufficient and deterrent police force maintained either at the kotwali or at the site of the temple itself? Why were there only a dozen men left to maintain law and order in this grievously disturbed area, especially after the contents of the Friday sermon at the Alamgiri Mosque became known to the authorities?’

This was the question that L.N. Agarwal had been dreading, and he was appalled and enraged that it had been asked by an MLA from his own party, and a Parliamentary Secretary at that. He felt defenceless. Was this a plot by Mahesh Kapoor to undermine him? He looked at the Chief Minister, who was waiting for his response with an unreadable expression. L.N. Agarwal suddenly realized that he had been on his feet for a long time, and wanted very badly to urinate. And he wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. He began to take refuge in the kind of stonewalling that the Chief Minister himself often used, but to much shabbier effect than that master of parliamentary evasion. By now, however, he hardly cared. He was convinced that this was indeed a plot by Muslims and so-called secular Hindus to attack him — and that his own party had been infected with treason.

Looking with calm hatred first at Abdus Salaam, then at Begum Abida Khan, he said: ‘I can merely reiterate — wait for the report.’

A member asked: ‘Why were so many police diverted to Misri Mandi for a totally unnecessary show of force when they were really needed in Chowk?’

‘Wait for the report,’ said the Home Minister, glaring around the House, as if challenging the members to goad him further.

Begum Abida Khan stood up. ‘Has the Government taken any action against the District Magistrate responsible for this unprovoked firing?’ she demanded.

‘The question does not arise.’

‘If the much-anticipated report shows that the firing was uncalled for and irregular, does Government plan to take any steps in this regard?’

‘That will be seen in due course. I should think it might.’

‘What steps does Government intend to take?’

‘Proper and adequate steps.’

‘Has Government taken any such steps in similar situations in the past?’

‘It has.’

‘What are those steps that have been taken?’

‘Such steps as were considered reasonable and proper.’

Begum Abida Khan looked at him as she would at a snake, wounded but still evading the final blow by twisting its head from side to side. Well, she was not done with him yet.

‘Will the honourable Minister name the wards or neighbourhoods in which restrictions have now been placed with regard to the possession of cold steel? Have these restrictions been placed as a result of the recent firing? If so, why were they not placed earlier?’

The Home Minister looked at the pipal tree in the great seal, and said:

‘Government presumes that the honourable member means by the phrase “cold steel” objects such as swords, daggers, axes, and similar weapons.’

‘Household knives have also been wrested by the police from housewives,’ said Begum Abida Khan in more of a jeer than a statement. ‘Well, what are the neighbourhoods?’

‘Chowk, Hazrat Mahal, and Captainganj,’ said L.N. Agarwal.

‘Not Misri Mandi?’

‘No.’

‘Although that was the site of the heaviest police presence?’ persisted Begum Abida Khan.

‘Police had to be shifted in large numbers to the real trouble spots—’ began L.N. Agarwal.

He stopped abruptly, realizing too late how he had exposed himself by what he had started to say.

‘So the honourable Minister admits—’ began Begum Abida Khan, her eyes gleaming triumphantly.

‘The Government admits nothing. The report will detail everything,’ said the Home Minister, appalled by the confession she had elicited from him.

Begum Abida Khan smiled contemptuously, and decided that the reactionary, trigger-happy, anti-Muslim bully had just condemned himself out of his own mouth sufficiently for much further skewering to be productive. She let her questions taper away.

‘Why were these restrictions on cold steel imposed?’

‘In order to prevent crimes and incidents of violence.’

‘Incidents?’

‘Such as riots by inflamed mobs,’ he cried out in weary rage.

‘How long will these restrictions continue?’ asked Begum Abida Khan, almost laughing.

‘Till they are withdrawn.’

‘And when does the Government propose to withdraw these restrictions?’

‘As soon as the situation permits.’

Begum Abida Khan gently sat down.

There followed a notice for adjournment of the House in order to discuss the issue of the firing, but the Speaker disposed of this quickly enough. Adjournment motions were only granted in the most exceptional cases of crisis or emergency, where discussion could brook no delay; to grant them or not was in the Speaker’s absolute discretion. The subject of the police firing, even had it been such a subject — which, to his mind, it was not — had been sufficiently aired already. The questions of that remarkable, almost unreinable woman had virtually become a debate.