The Householder (11 page)

‘How sick I am of petty politicians!' the lady cried, glaring at Prem.

Kitty said, ‘It does seem awfully like putting the cart before the horse, doesn't it?'

‘Horse?' said Hans.

The lady gave an indignant tug at her necklace: ‘Politics are all very well for other, materialistic countries, but here first things come first.'

Prem cleared his throat. ‘A nation must be free,' he said and though he tried to speak up bravely, his voice came out timid and rather squeaky.

‘No dear,' Kitty said, laying a kind hand on his arm. ‘That's not quite what we're talking about.'

The lady shut her eyes and said, ‘What's the use of talking to people like that.' Prem realized that he was creating a poor impression and that made him feel very bad.

‘I will explain,' Hans said. ‘Prem, you see that none of us are Indian by birth but we are all here. Why?'

‘You had a dream,' Prem murmured.

‘Quite right!' Hans cried. He held up a forefinger in the air and seemed pleased. ‘I had a dream—“Come, Hans,” the swami said. But there are others who had no dream. They came to this India, perhaps for business, perhaps for studies. They thought it was only for a short time, but they also had to stay. They know only in India they will find themselves.'

‘The thing is to become com
plete,
' the lady with the necklace said. To give the last word special emphasis she drew back her lips and bared her long yellow teeth. And then, to Prem's surprise, she stretched her mouth wider, revealing more teeth; she was smiling, and not only smiling, but smiling at Prem. She said archly, ‘Perhaps you are complete already.'

‘He does look a nice boy,' Kitty said.

Hans threw his arm round Prem's shoulder: ‘The first time I met him he was in contemplation. Yes, yes,' he cried at Prem, ‘don't try to deny, you were sitting there on the park-bench lost in contemplation—I could see from your eyes.' He squeezed Prem's shoulder affectionately: ‘I am proud you are my friend.' Prem did not feel as stirred by these last words as he should have done. When Hans said ‘friend', Prem thought of Raj, and he wished he were with Raj.

‘I must go home now, please,' he murmured. Nobody heard him, for they had all turned away to listen to a wizened white lady in a cotton sari, who was recounting her experiences with a very advanced yogi in Lucknow.

When it was their day for meeting, Raj again failed to turn up. After waiting for a considerable time in the vestibule of the cinema, Prem began to think that perhaps something was wrong with Raj or his family—why else should Raj neglect to meet his only Ankhpur friend? The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that something untoward was preventing Raj from keeping his appointment. He resolved instantly to go and see him.

It took him a long time on the bus to get there, and when he did arrive, it was difficult for him to find the house, for he had never been there before. It was in a large colony of houses for Grade Three Civil Servants. There were rows and rows of hutments, each one with an oval door, a little veranda and a tiny rectangle of grass in front. It was evening, so all the doors were open and the men sat outside, relaxing after their day in the office, neat, thin, earnest clerks off-duty in vests and dhotis. There were many children running around, playing and shouting and throwing balls; a triangle of grass had been converted into a playground for them, and here they swung on shabby swings or turned slowly and with an air of boredom on a creaking roundabout. There was also a row of shops, a chemist, a dry-cleaner lit up by neon-lighting, a grocer with rice and lentils and red chillies kept in tall tins, a barber and a dried-fruits store. A radio played loud wailing music from out of the barber's shop.

Raj sat outside his hutment, looking very much like all the other clerks sitting outside their hutments. He too was wearing a vest and a dhoti. He was trying to read the morning's paper but was distracted from this by a little girl who kept plucking at the grass and falling over. ‘Come here, Babli!' Raj called in an anxious voice. He ran after the little girl and picked her up and then carefully dusted the earth from her knickers. He was engaged in this when he looked up and saw Prem. He became frozen for a moment, then hastily put his child down. He did not seem at all pleased to see Prem; on the contrary, he even looked rather sulky. Prem felt as if he had gone to see a stranger, and not his friend Raj at all.

‘I was waiting for you in the cinema,' Prem said. But seeing Raj's frown deepen, he was afraid that this might sound like a reproach, so he added hastily: ‘I thought perhaps you were ill, that is why I——'

‘There has been great pressure of work in my office,' Raj said. ‘You can have no idea how work piles up in a Government office.' He put his hand to his forehead to indicate the load of work he was made to sustain.

Prem smiled at the little girl and beckoned to her with his hand. But she hid behind her father's dhoti and hung on to his leg. ‘She is shy with strangers,' Raj said. ‘One day your boss in the office will decide that certain inventories in File G must now be classified with other inventories in File M. Then there is one mad rush all day to get together all the inventories from File G—you can sit down if you like,' he said, pointing to the basket-chair in which his opened newspaper still lay crumpled; ‘rest for a moment.' He turned his head and called into the house: ‘Bring the other chair!'

Prem removed and carefully folded Raj's paper and sat down. A moment later a stout square woman, in a blue cotton sari with a red border to it tucked round her waist, carried out another basket-chair. Prem assumed that she was Raj's wife, but as no attempt at introduction was made, he pretended not to see her. She stood for a moment in the oval of the door, scratching her elbow and staring at Prem, before disappearing again inside.

‘Come, I will show you something nice,' Prem said to the little girl. He took his handkerchief and wound it round his finger, making it look like a Sikh wearing a turban.

‘My brother-in-law has already shown her that trick,' Raj said. ‘In our office a departmental note may come at three o'clock in the afternoon to say that seventeen copies of a notice must be instantly typed and dispatched.' He laughed dryly: ‘That is how it is in Government service.'

‘What do you call her?'

‘Her pet name is Babli. People like you who have never held a Government post can have no idea what it is like.'

‘You won't come to me, Babli?' Prem smiled and patted his lap.

‘It is hell,' Raj said with satisfaction.' But what to do? If one has a family to support, one cannot pick and choose, one must work, work, work at one's job.'

‘Do you go to school, Babli?'

‘She is only two. This is another worry we shall have to face next year—the school fees that have to be paid every month. It is a great burden.' The little girl rubbed herself against his legs and he absent-mindedly stroked her head. Prem suddenly realized that it would not be long before he too had a child, and this thought made him so unexpectedly happy that he was quite embarrassed. To hide this, he bent down from his chair and plucked at some blades of grass.

Raj's wife came out with a tea-tray, which she placed with a lot of clatter on to a footstool. She did not go away but stood watching them, with one arm akimbo. She was a rather plain woman and, though still young, already much too fat.

‘Are you comfortable in this place?' Prem asked. Since Raj was ignoring his wife, Prem could only follow suit.

‘What to do?' said Raj. ‘Beggars can't be choosers.'

‘What—comfortable!' Raj's wife surprisingly interposed. She spoke with heat and in a somewhat raucous voice. ‘Have you seen the state of this place? It is falling in ruins about our heads!'

‘Yes, yes,' Raj said irritably, ‘now don't talk so loud.'

‘All the ceilings are cracked, and when it rains, the water comes into the house like a flood.'

‘It is allotted to us by Government,' Raj said. ‘Naturally we have to take what we are given. And the rent is not so bad.' He fed sugar to his child from a spoon, which she licked with relish.

‘The W.C. was broken a long time ago, so that we have to use a commode,' Raj's wife said.

‘All right, all right,' Raj said to her over his shoulder.

‘And the sweeper comes only twice a day to clean it out. It is very inconvenient for us. When you have finished with the tea, I will take away the tray.' She bent down to pick it up. Though he tried modestly not to look at her, Prem could not help noticing that she was clumsy in her movements. She dropped things and bumped her elbow and when she walked, she placed her feet in square heavy thuds. Prem thought of Indu, of her light swift ways, and felt rather pleased.

Prem said, ‘My mother has come from Ankhpur, and is staying with us.'

Raj gave him a swift look. ‘Everything is all right?'

‘How do you mean?' Prem said with an uneasy laugh.

Raj shook his head. ‘I know it is often difficult when a wife and a mother meet.' He gave a sigh, which seemed to come from out of the memory of a deep experience. Prem looked at him with respect. He felt there was much he could learn from Raj.

‘One day you must come to my house also,' he said. ‘You and your wife. And of course Babli must not be left at home.' He tried to chuck the child under the chin but she quickly hid her head behind her arms. ‘We can all meet together for a meal at my house.' He rather liked the prospect of entertaining Raj and his family. There was something solid and respectable about a family party, which appealed to him more now than meeting only Raj in the vestibule of the cinema.

When he got home, he found his mother alone. She was sitting on her bed; she had not turned the light on. ‘Your wife is downstairs,' she said bitterly.

‘With the Seigals?'

‘How do I know what their name is?'

‘I will go and fetch her.' He walked away rather hastily.

‘The servant also is not here!' She called after him. ‘There is no one to make even a cup of tea for me!'

He clicked his tongue. ‘At once I will fetch her.' He ran quickly down the stairs. There were several visitors in the Seigals' house. Mr. Seigal sat with three other men at a little card-table which had been placed right under the ceiling fan. They were arguing loudly about something and seemed to be quite angry. Romesh lay on the sofa, as indolently as if he were floating in a boat, his hand trailing on the carpet and his eyes fixed dreamily into the distance. Indu was out on the veranda with some other ladies. She was helping Mrs. Seigal to wind wool and looked quite happy and smiling. When she saw Prem, though, her face changed and she became passive and expressionless. He noticed this, and was hurt.

He declined to sit down. ‘My mother is waiting for us,' he told Mr. Seigal. Indu followed him with obvious reluctance. At the bottom of the stairs, he asked her in a hurried low voice, ‘What happened?'

‘Nothing happened.'

‘Why did you leave my mother all alone?'

She shrugged and walked up the stairs. He came behind her, feeling uneasy and unhappy. They had hardly entered when Prem's mother began to complain: ‘What sort of a household is it, where the servant is out, the wife is out, the mother who has come to visit is left alone without tea and sitting in darkness?' Prem switched the light on with a sharp click. ‘It is hurting my eyes!' his mother cried. Indu had quietly slipped into the kitchen and was lighting the fire.

‘I am sorry for you, son,' Prem's mother said. ‘When I am not here, there is no one to look after your comforts. My poor boy, to have to work so hard and then to come home to an empty house with the fire unlit, no tea, no light, nothing. Thank God I always knew what my duty was towards your father.
He
never had to come home to such a house.' The servant-boy could be heard singing as he came up the stairs. Prem ran out and seized him by the shoulder. ‘Where have you been?' Prem shouted.

The boy looked at him in astonishment. His mouth was open, interrupted in mid-song. ‘Where have you been?' Prem shouted and he gave the boy's shoulder a shake which, however, in contrast to his fierce voice, was rather feeble.

‘Son!' Prem's mother called from the sitting-room. ‘Don't upset yourself, son!'

Indu came out of the kitchen. The boy looked at her and asked: ‘What is the matter with him?'

Prem let go of his shoulder and turned indignantly to Indu. ‘What a rude undisciplined boy he is.'

‘Don't upset yourself, son! You will make yourself ill!'

Suddenly Indu was shouting at the servant-boy:' You son of the devil, you little pig, where have you been?' She advanced in a threatening attitude, swaggering slightly, with arms akimbo and her fists pushed against her hips. ‘Just wait till I——' The boy ducked and fled into the kitchen. She followed him: ‘I will tear out your eyes and stamp on them.…' Prem went back into the sitting-room. His mother was still sitting on her bed; she was combing her hair and had hairpins in her mouth. They could hear Indu shouting in the kitchen: ‘I will batter in your teeth and twist off your ears!' Prem's mother took the hairpins out of her mouth and said, ‘She has bad temper also. My poor son.'

Indu did not again object to accompanying Prem to Mr. Khanna's tea-party. On the contrary, she seemed quite glad to go, as if she were glad to escape from the house for an afternoon. She spent a long time dressing herself. Prem watched her and was fascinated. She wore one of her best saris, one that had been given her on her marriage—a lilac-coloured georgette with big flowers and leaves stitched on it in imitation pearls. With that she wore red shoes which had high platform soles and cut-out toes. She also put on her jewellery—a heavy gold necklace and long ear-rings and twelve gold bangles—smoothed and liberally oiled her hair and wound it round with a fresh chain of jasmine, applied the red mark on her forehead and finally even a little lipstick on her lips. How different she looked from the everyday Indu, who wore cotton saris tucked round her waist, glass bangles and usually no shoes at all. Prem gazed at her in admiration. Her eyes were shining, and her lipstick, her gold, her jasmine, her hair-oil all gave her an almost opulent effect. Prem's mother said, ‘You children can go and enjoy yourselves. I will be here to guard everything.'