Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

Saeeda Bai felt safe enough with Maan to mention Tasneem’s name in his presence.

Bibbo assumed a satisfactorily apologetic expression and said:

‘But he’s here already, as you know, Saeeda Bai.’

‘As I know? As I know?’ said Saeeda Bai with renewed impatience. ‘I don’t know anything. And nor do you,’ she added. ‘Tell him to come up at once.’

A few minutes later Bibbo was back, but alone.

‘Well?’ said Saeeda Bai.

‘He won’t come,’ said Bibbo.

‘He won’t come? Does he know who pays him to give tuition to Tasneem? Does he think his honour will be unsafe if he comes upstairs to this room? Or is it just that he is giving himself airs because he is a university student?’

‘I don’t know, Begum Sahiba,’ said Bibbo.

‘Then go, girl, and ask him why. It’s his income I want to increase, not my own.’

Five minutes later Bibbo returned with a very broad grin on her face and said, ‘He was very angry when I interrupted him again. He was teaching Tasneem a complicated passage in the Quran Sharif and told me that the divine word would have to take precedence over his earthly income. But he will come when the lesson is over.’

‘Actually, I’m not sure I want to learn Urdu,’ said Maan, who was beginning to regret his sudden enthusiasm. He didn’t really want to be saddled with a lot of hard work. And he hadn’t expected the conversation to take such a practical turn so suddenly. He was always making resolutions such as, ‘I must learn polo’ (to Firoz, who enjoyed introducing his friends to the tastes and joys of his own Nawabi lifestyle), or ‘I must settle down’ (to Veena, who was the only one in the family who was capable of ticking him off to some effect), or even ‘I will not give swimming lessons to whales’ (which Pran considered ill-judged levity). But he made these resolutions safe in the knowledge that their implementation was very far away.

By now, however, the young Arabic teacher was standing outside the door, quite hesitantly and a little disapprovingly. He did adaab to the whole company, and waited to hear what was required of him.

‘Rasheed, can you teach my young friend here Urdu?’ asked Saeeda Bai, coming straight to the point.

The young man nodded a little reluctantly.

‘The understanding will be the same as with Tasneem,’ said Saeeda Bai, who believed in getting practical matters sorted out quickly.

‘That will be fine,’ said Rasheed. He spoke in a somewhat clipped manner, as if he were still slightly piqued by the earlier interruptions to his Arabic lesson. ‘And the name of the gentleman?’

‘Oh yes, I’m sorry,’ said Saeeda Bai. ‘This is Dagh Sahib, whom the world so far knows only by the name of Maan Kapoor. He is the son of Mahesh Kapoor, the Minister. And his elder brother Pran teaches at the university, where you study.’

The young man was frowning with a sort of inward concentration. Then, fixing his sharp eyes on Maan he said, ‘It will be an honour to teach the son of Mahesh Kapoor. I am afraid I am a little late already for my next tuition. I hope that when I come tomorrow we can fix up a suitable time for our lesson. When do you tend to be free?’

‘Oh, he tends to be free all the time,’ said Saeeda Bai with a tender smile. ‘Time is not a problem with Dagh Sahib.’

One night, exhausted from marking examination papers, Pran was sleeping soundly when he was awakened with a jolt. He had been kicked. His wife had her arms around him, but she was sleeping soundly still.

‘Savita, Savita — the baby kicked me!’ said Pran excitedly, shaking his wife’s shoulder.

Savita opened a reluctant eye, felt Pran’s lanky and comforting body near her, and smiled in the dark, before sinking back to sleep.

‘Are you awake?’ asked Pran.

‘Uh,’ said Savita. ‘Mm.’

‘But it really did!’ said Pran, unhappy with her lack of response.

‘What did?’ said Savita sleepily.

‘The baby.’

‘What baby?’

‘Our baby.’

‘Our baby did what?’

‘It kicked me.’

Savita sat up carefully, kissed Pran’s forehead, rather as if he were a baby himself, and gave him a hug. ‘It couldn’t have. You’re dreaming. Go back to sleep. And I’ll also go back to sleep. And so will the baby.’

‘It did,’ said Pran, a little indignantly.

‘It couldn’t have,’ said Savita, lying down again. ‘I’d have felt it.’

‘Well it did, that’s all. You probably don’t feel its kicks any more. And you sleep very soundly. But it kicked me through your belly, it definitely did, and it woke me up.’ He was very insistent.

‘Oh, all right,’ said Savita. ‘Have it your way. I think he must have known that you were having bad dreams, all about chiasmus and Anna — whatever her name is.’

‘Anacoluthia.’

‘Yes, and I was having good dreams and he didn’t want to disturb me.’

‘Excellent baby,’ said Pran.

‘Our baby,’ said Savita. Pran got another hug.

They were silent for a while. Then, as Pran was drifting off to sleep, Savita said:

‘He seems to have a lot of energy.’

‘Oh?’ said Pran, half asleep.

Savita, now wide awake with her thoughts, was in no mood to cut off this conversation.

‘Do you think he will turn out to be like Maan?’ she asked.

‘He?’

‘I sense he’s a boy,’ said Savita in a resolved sort of way.

‘In what sense like Maan?’ asked Pran, suddenly remembering that his mother had asked him to talk to his brother about the direction of his life — and especially about Saeeda Bai, whom his mother referred to only as ‘woh’—that woman.

‘Handsome — and a flirt?’

‘Maybe,’ said Pran, his mind on other matters.

‘Or an intellectual like his father?’

‘Oh, why not?’ said Pran, drawn back in. ‘He could do worse. But without his asthma, I hope.’

‘Or do you think he’ll have the temper of my grandfather?’

‘No, I don’t think it was an angry sort of kick. Just informative. “Here I am; it’s two in the morning, and all’s well.” Or perhaps he was, as you say, interrupting a nightmare.’

‘Maybe he’ll be like Arun — very dashing and sophisticated.’

‘Sorry, Savita,’ said Pran. ‘If he turns out to be like your brother, I’ll disown him. But he’ll have disowned us long before that. In fact, if he’s like Arun, he’s probably thinking at this very moment: “Awful service in this room; I must speak to the manager so that I can get my nutrients on time. And they should adjust the temperature of the amniotic fluid in this indoor swimming pool, as they do in five-star wombs. But what can you expect in India? Nothing works at all in this damned country. What the natives need is a good solid dose of discipline.” Perhaps that’s why he kicked me.’

Savita laughed. ‘You don’t know Arun well enough,’ was her response.

Pran merely grunted.

‘Anyway, he might take after the women in this family,’ Savita went on. ‘He might turn out to be like your mother or mine.’ The thought pleased her.

Pran frowned, but this latest flight of Savita’s fancy was too taxing at two in the morning. ‘Do you want me to get you something to drink?’ he asked her.

‘No, mm, yes, a glass of water.’

Pran sat up, coughed a little, turned towards the bedside table, switched on the bedside lamp, and poured out a glass of cool water from the thermos flask.

‘Here, darling,’ he said, looking at her with slightly rueful affection. How beautiful she looked now, and how wonderful it would be to make love with her.

‘You don’t sound too good, Pran,’ said Savita.

Pran smiled, and passed his hand across her forehead. ‘I’m fine.’