The Householder (20 page)

From his dais at one end of the class-room Prem faced Mr. Chaddha on his dais at the other. Prem said, ‘I was giving my lecture', in a shaking voice.

‘Perhaps you were giving your lecture but your students don't seem to have been listening to you,' Mr. Chaddha said.

Prem felt rebuked like a schoolboy. He hung his head and plucked at the notes in front of him. There was a heavy silence, during which Prem felt his disgrace mounting. At last Mr. Chaddha resumed his lecture and his students turned back. Prem also continued to speak, though he could not remember where he had left off before Mr. Chaddha's interruption. His students remained more quiet than he had ever known them for the rest of the lesson; nevertheless Prem was greatly relieved when it was over.

But a sense of shame remained with him. He had been publicly disgraced and made to lose face before his students. He felt it acutely. He knew he was not very successful at keeping discipline—indeed not very successful at teaching—but this was a fact that should be kept decently hidden. No man could hope for standing and respect if his weaknesses were exposed. His sense of shame began to be mingled with some indignation. He realized that Mr. Chaddha had really no right to administer any rebuke to him, let alone disgrace him as he had done in front of all their students. Prem was himself a teacher, a husband, a householder, and as such some respect was due to him.

His indignation increased when he saw Mr. Chaddha sitting in his usual position in an armchair in the middle of the staffroom, with his little legs crossed and one foot swinging free in the air. He was reading a book with his usual air of pompous authoritativeness. Without thinking at all, Prem went straight up to him and said in a voice trembling with resentment, ‘It is not nice to disgrace a teacher in front of his students.'

Mr. Chaddha lowered his book and glanced up at Prem standing accusingly in front of him. Prem noticed that he wore a look of astonishment.

‘If you wish to tell me something, you can tell me quietly after the lesson!' Prem cried, close to tears.

Mr. Chaddha's look of astonishment gave way to one of extreme annoyance. He said, ‘You will please lower your voice when you speak to me.'

Prem cried, ‘I can speak to you any way I like! I am not your student, I am a teacher!' His voice was shrill. He put up his hand and, ashamed and impatient, brushed a tear from his cheekbone.

Mr. Chaddha rose from his armchair. He rose with the slow and terrible dignity of a figure of vengeance, though his short stature made it end in rather an anticlimax. ‘Unheard-of!' he brought out in fearful wrath.

The other teachers were listening breathlessly, though they were half turned away from the scene and watching only from the corner of their eyes. No one wished to be involved.

‘What is impertinence?' Prem cried shrilly. ‘To make a teacher look small before his students—perhaps that is not impertinence?'

‘Gross impudence!' cried Mr. Chaddha.

‘Don't speak to me like that!' Prem shrilled, balling his fists and stamping one foot.

‘Unprecedented insolence!' cried Mr. Chaddha. Puffing and snorting, he began to pace up and down the staff-room with quick angry little steps. ‘This is a matter for the Principal.'

‘It is not right for a teacher——'

‘I shall make a full report to the Principal,' said Mr. Chaddha, pacing and puffing.

‘Then make report, what do I care!' Prem cried in tearful defiance. But it was not a defiance he could quite feel: the idea of Mr. Chaddha reporting to the Principal was not pleasant to him. Especially just now when he hoped Mr. Khanna was considering his petition and nothing must be allowed to prejudice him in that delicate task.

‘I shall point out to him how my own lectures are disturbed because of indiscipline at the other end of the class-room.'

‘What indiscipline? How can you say indiscipline?' Prem said; his voice had become milder, even anxious.

But Mr. Chaddha was not to be deflected. ‘A full report shall be made,' he said, intent on his own indignation. Only the bell stopped him pacing up and down the room. He gathered up his notes at once; in the doorway he stopped still and announced in a fateful voice, ‘The end of this has not yet been heard.'

The other teachers hurried away. No one said anything. Prem walked along the corridor with Sohan Lal who also did not say anything. Though he would have appreciated some words of sympathy and support, Prem understood that Sohan Lal could not afford to get involved by taking sides.

All the way home he felt uneasy. Not so much because of the disgrace in the classroom; or because of the unpleasantness of his scene with Mr. Chaddha; but because of the possible consequence of these things. If Mr. Chaddha really reported to the Principal and drew his attention to the fact that Prem was not very good at maintaining discipline, then Mr. Khanna might not be as favourably disposed towards an increase in salary as Prem now hoped he was.

He worried till he got home: but then he forgot all about it, for Indu was singing in the kitchen. When she saw him, she pretended to be annoyed. ‘You are so early—I have not finished any of my work yet,' she said, trying to sound busy and flustered. But he saw that she had already had her evening bath and was wearing a fresh sari and her scent like vanilla essence, and her hair was newly brushed and oiled. He tried to embrace her. ‘Go away,' she said; ‘have you no shame, in the middle of the day?' ‘What does it matter?' he murmured into her scented neck. ‘Who can see us?' She smelt so fresh, with soap and scent, and yet underneath that there was her own deep woman-smell. ‘Let me go,' she said, half-heartedly pushing against his chest. The servant-boy was vigorously sweeping the stairs—swish, went his broom, and in time with it he chanted a counting-out rhyme.

So it was not until next morning, on his way back to the college, that Prem remembered to worry again. By that time he thought it unlikely that Mr. Chaddha had done anything so drastic as reporting to Mr. Khanna, so his thoughts centred mainly on whether his request for an increase in salary would be granted or not. Though he was by no means sure that Mrs. Khanna had handed the petition on. He would give Mr. Khanna three more days; if he had heard nothing from him after that, then he would really have to write another petition.

But he did not have to wait that long. For with the tea that morning, the servant brought a note which asked Prem to come up and see the Principal. Prem became quite excited; he showed the note to Sohan Lal, saying: ‘It must be about my increase in salary.' He smoothed his collar, ran a comb through his hair, patted his cheek to see if he had a nice close shave. He wanted to look his best.

‘Ah, yes,' said Mr. Khanna. Mrs. Khanna was sitting at the table with her knees wide apart; she was painting her finger-nails.

Prem felt very nervous. So much depended on Mr. Khanna's decision. He was smiling half expectantly, half fearfully, but he was unaware of this.

‘Well, yes now,' said Mr. Khanna.

Prem croaked, ‘You sent for me,' still smiling.

Mrs. Khanna said, ‘What time is the train arriving?'

‘Let me talk,' Mr. Khanna said irritably. To Prem he said, ‘Quite right, I sent for you.'

‘Thank you, sir,' Prem said.

‘There has been a complaint against you,' Mr. Khanna said.

The smile came off Prem's face. This was not what he thought he had come for. He felt betrayed.

‘It seems you don't keep discipline in your class and consequently other classes are disturbed.'

‘I am only asking so I know what time we have to go to the station,' Mrs. Khanna said.

‘This college has always been noted for its excellent discipline,' Mr. Khanna said with a severe sincerity, as if he were challenging someone to contradict him.

‘Will it be after our tea or before?' Mrs. Khanna asked.

‘Why don't you let me do my work!' Mr. Khanna turned on her. She continued to paint her nails with pursed lips and an air of dignity.

‘We have always had a most distinguished and reliable teaching staff,' Mr. Khanna said, and again he made it sound as if it were true.

‘I cannot allow,' he went on,' any weak link in the college.' He struck the table with his knuckles so that Mrs. Khanna's bottles of nail polish shook: ‘You are a weak link,' he accused.

Prem wanted to say something, to justify himself and show Mr. Khanna that it was a mistake and he was not a weak link at all. But he was too deeply shocked to be able to speak.

‘If you wish to stay with us,' Mr. Khanna said, ‘you will have to improve yourself.' Mrs. Khanna nodded in agreement. ‘Certainly he has a lot to improve,' she said, without looking up from her nails.

‘I cannot undertake to pay out a monthly salary to someone who is not worthy of his hire', Mr. Khanna said.

‘Everyone must be worthy of his hire', said Mrs. Khanna.

‘I have the reputation of this college to consider,' said Mr. Khanna. ‘The parents of my pupils expect me to provide a first-class teaching staff.'

Mrs. Khanna said, ‘Today I must have the staff-room cleared out for our guests.'

‘I can only keep up our high standard if every member of my staff pulls his weight.'

‘I will bring down the guest towels and sheets in the afternoon after our food. Before that it must be properly cleaned out and aired.'

‘Why do you keep interrupting me?' Mr. Khanna shouted.

‘Who is interrupting?' she shouted back.

‘Please remember what I have said,' Mr. Khanna told Prem. ‘I cannot give a second warning. That will be all,' he said sternly but Prem still stood there, dazed.

‘What do you mean—interrupting you? Perhaps now I should neglect all my household matters!'

‘You can go now!' Mr. Khanna told Prem in a loud voice.

The fear of losing his job was a new one for Prem. He knew he was not very good at teaching, but he had never thought that this shortcoming might lead to his dismissal. It was not as if he shirked his duties—he was always there on time, never missed a lesson, hardly ever left before five. What more could he do? It was not his fault that he had not been born a good teacher. People should make allowances for one another's weaknesses.

When he realized that Mr. Khanna was not disposed to make allowances and that he might even dismiss him, he was very much afraid. His mind leapt to the consequences of dismissal: the difficulty—or even impossibility—of finding another job, the destitution of himself, Indu and their baby. They would have to give up their own flat and go and live with one after another of their relations. Perhaps they would have more children, and everyone would be angry with him and say: ‘He earns not a pai to keep himself and still he loads his wife with children.' Indu would have to sell all her pieces of jewellery, her satin blouses and fine saris would become old and frayed and she would have no money to buy new ones.

He knew that, whatever it might cost him, he had to hold on to his job. He had to do everything, accept everything, for the sake of holding on to his job. He had to be like Sohan Lal, quiet, patient, self-effacing, in the effort not to come under displeasurable notice; constantly alert not to offend.

He felt the weight of this new burden so heavily that not even Indu could lighten it. His pensive and melancholy mood made her think that he was annoyed with her and she withdrew from him and sulked by herself.

They were both sitting on the bed, both with their backs supported against the headrest with the entwined cupids, both with their legs drawn up and their eyes staring at the patchily whitewashed wall of their tiny bedroom. At last, with a sigh, he held out his hand towards her: ‘Come here,' he said softly.

She did not move, only folded her arms to show obstinate defiance.

‘Please come to me,' he said.

‘Why should I come to you? When you don't want me, you sit quiet by yourself and I am nothing, some wooden toy perhaps, nothing more, but when you want me, I must run.'

‘Who said I did not want you?'

‘Then why do you sit by yourself like that—no, don't come near to me! I don't like you!' But he came all the same. He said: ‘I was thinking. You don't under stand——'

‘I see. Thank you. I don't understand. I am stupid.'

‘What can I say to you?' he said, half laughing, while he tried to kiss her.

‘Let me tell you, I am not stupid at all! On the contrary, when I was in the school, all the teachers said Indu can study very well if she tries, she has a good brain!'

‘Yes, yes, I know.' He was full of tenderness for her. The fact that he knew about the insecurity that would for ever threaten them and she did not, made him feel very loving towards her. He wanted to keep her innocent and unsuspecting, and to protect her.

‘In sums I was not so very good, but in rea ding and writing I was always first in the class! Oh, you there!' she called to the servant-boy.

‘Why do you call him now?' Prem said and tried to kiss her again.

‘If I don't think of your food, then who will? Just see the lentils don't boil over,' she instructed the servant-boy.

‘Were you quarrelling with him?' the boy asked.

‘I have never seen such an impertinent—— Get out!' she shouted, which he did in a hurry. She grumbled, ‘I would like to tear the skin from him with my nails', while Prem kissed her quite passionately.

But when he was away from her, all his melancholy thoughts came back. He even began to think rather longingly of his boyhood again: of living in his father's house, looked after by his mother and with no responsibilities except those of passing in his examinations. Yet he knew he did not want that at all. He wanted to be looked after not by his mother but by Indu. And he wanted to look after her.

But he was weak and alone. He was on one side with Indu behind him and the coming baby, and on the other side were the Khannas and the Seigals and Mr. Chaddha and his students and doctor's bills and income-tax forms and all the other horrors the world had in store for him. He felt that he was required to pit his strength against all these, and yet he knew from the beginning that it was hopeless because he did not have much strength. He knew that the only way he could survive was by submitting to and propitiating the other side.