Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

Abbas looked up at his brother and repeated his words, except that his came out as ‘Dipsy Sahib’.

‘The Nawab Sahib’s grandsons,’ explained the private secretary.

The Deputy Superintendent of Police smiled warily.

‘I am sorry,’ he said to Murtaza Ali. ‘My time is up and so is yours. The house may look as if it is lived in, but our information tells us otherwise, and we will have to investigate. We must do our duty. The Home Minister himself has instructed us.’

‘I quite understand, DSP Sahib,’ said Murtaza Ali. ‘But may I beg you for a little more time? These two boys are carrying a letter which must be delivered before any action can be taken.’

The DSP shook his head. He held up his hand to indicate that enough was enough, and said: ‘Agarwalji has told me personally that he will not entertain any petitions in this respect and that we are not to brook any delay. I am sorry. The decision can always be challenged or appealed later.’

‘This letter is for the Chief Minister.’

The policeman stiffened slightly.

‘What does this mean?’ he said in a voice that was both irritated and bewildered. ‘What does the letter say? What do you hope to achieve by this?’

Murtaza Ali said gravely:

‘I cannot be expected to know the contents of a private and urgent letter between the daughter of the Nawab Sahib of Baitar and the Chief Minister of Purva Pradesh. Clearly it touches on this matter of the house, but about what it says it would be impertinent of me to speculate. The car, however, is ready, and I must escort these little messengers to Sharmaji’s house before they lose their own. DSP Sahib, I hope you will wait for my return before you do anything sudden.’

The DSP, foiled for the moment, said nothing. He knew he would have to wait.

Murtaza Ali took his leave, gathered his charges and drove off in the Nawab Sahib’s car.

Fifty yards outside the gates of Baitar House, however, the car came to a sudden halt and could not be restarted. Murtaza Ali told the driver to wait, walked back to the house with Abbas, deposited him with a servant, got out his bicycle and returned. He then propped a surprisingly unprotesting Hassan in front of him, and cycled off with him into the night.

When they got to the Chief Minister’s house fifteen minutes later, they were immediately admitted to his office, where he was working late.

After the usual salutations, they were asked to sit down. Murtaza Ali was sweating — he had been bicycling as fast as he could, considering the safety of his cargo. But Hassan looked cool and crisp in his fine white angarkha, if a little sleepy.

‘Now to what do I owe this pleasure?’

The Chief Minister looked from the six-year-old boy to the Nawab Sahib’s thirty-year-old secretary while nodding his head slightly from side to side as he sometimes did when tired.

Murtaza Ali had never met the Chief Minister in person. Since he had no idea how best to approach the matter, he simply said: ‘Chief Minister Sahib, this letter will tell you everything.’

The Chief Minister looked over the letter only once, but slowly. Then in an angry and determined voice, nasal but with the unmistakable ring of authority, he said:

‘Get me Agarwal on the phone!’

While the call was being connected, the Chief Minister ticked off Murtaza Ali for having brought the ‘poor boy’ with him so long past his bedtime. But it had clearly had an effect on his feelings. He would probably have had harsher things to say, reflected Murtaza Ali, if I had brought Abbas along as well.

When the call came through, the Chief Minister had a few words with the Home Minister. There was no mistaking the annoyance in his voice.

‘Agarwal, what does this Baitar House business mean?’ asked the Chief Minister.

After a minute he said: ‘No, I am not interested in all that. I have a good understanding of what the Custodian’s job is. I cannot have this sort of thing going on under my nose. Call it off at once.’

A few seconds later he said, even more exasperatedly:

‘No. It will not be sorted out in the morning. Tell the police to leave immediately. If you have to, put my signature on it.’ He was about to put down the receiver when he added: ‘And call me in half an hour.’

After the Chief Minister had put the phone down, he glanced at Zainab’s letter again. Then he turned to Hassan and said, shaking his head a little:

‘Go home now, things will be all right.’

Begum Abida Khan ( Democratic Party ): I do not understand what the honourable member is saying. Is he claiming that we should take the government’s word on this as on other matters? Does the honourable member not know what happened just the other day in this city — in Baitar House to be precise — where on the orders of this government, a gang of policemen, armed to the teeth, would have set upon the helpless members of an unprotected zenana — and, if it had not been for the grace of God—

The Hon’ble the Speaker: The honourable member is reminded that this is not germane to the Zamindari Bill that is being discussed. I must remind her of the rules of debate and ask her to refrain from introducing extraneous matter into her speeches.

Begum Abida Khan: I am deeply grateful to the honourable Speaker. This House has its own rules, but God too judges us from above and if I may say so without disrespect to this House, God too has His own rules and we will see which prevails. How can zamindars expect justice from this government in the countryside where redress is so distant when even in this city, in the sight of this honourable House, the honour of other honourable houses is being ravished?

The Hon’ble the Speaker: I will not remind the honourable member again. If there are further digressions in this vein I will ask her to resume her seat.

Begum Abida Khan: The honourable Speaker has been very indulgent with me, and I have no intention of troubling this House further with my feeble voice. But I will say that the entire conduct, the entire manner in which this bill has been created, amended, passed by the Upper House, brought down to this Lower House and amended drastically yet again by the government itself shows a lack of faith and a lack of responsibility, even integrity, with respect to its proclaimed original intent, and the people of this state will not forgive the government for this. They have used their brute majority to force through amendments which are patently mala fide. What we saw when the bill — as amended by the Legislative Council — was undergoing its second reading in this Legislative Assembly was something so shocking that even I — who have lived through many shocking events in my life — was appalled. It had been agreed that compensation was to be paid to landlords. Since they are going to be deprived of their ancestral means of livelihood, that is the least that we can expect in justice. But the amount that is being paid is a pittance — half of which we are expected, indeed enjoined, to accept in government bonds of uncertain date!

A member: You need not accept it. The treasury will be happy to keep it warm for you.

Begum Abida Khan: And even that bond-weakened pittance is on a graduated scale so that the larger landlords — many of whom have establishments on which hundreds of people depend — managers, relatives, retainers, musicians—

A member: Wrestlers, bullies, courtesans, wastrels—

Begum Abida Khan: —will not be paid in proportion to the land that is rightfully theirs. What will these poor people do? Where will they go? The Government does not care. It thinks that this bill will be popular with the people and it has an eye on the General Elections that will be taking place in just a few months. That is the truth of the matter. That is the real truth and I do not accept any denials from the Minister of Revenue or his Parliamentary Secretary or the Chief Minister or anyone. They were afraid that the High Court of Brahmpur would strike down their graduated scale of payment. So what did they do at a late stage of the proceedings yesterday — at the very end of the second reading? Something that was so deceitful, so shameful, yet so transparent, that even a child would be able to see through it. They split up the compensation into two parts — a non-graduated so-called compensation — and a graduated so-called Rehabilitation Grant for zamindars — and passed an amendment late in the day to validate this new scheme of payment. Do they really think the court will accept that the compensation is ‘equal treatment’ for all — when by mere jugglery the Revenue Minister and his Parliamentary Secretary have transferred three-quarters of the compensation money into another category with a long and pious name — a category where there is blatantly unequal treatment of the larger landlords? You may be assured that we will fight this injustice while there is breath in our bodies—