A Division of the Spoils

  Now to the stationmaster’s fussing, Booby was adding his own. Where were the steps by which to mount? ‘We don’t need steps,’ Kasim said and reached for the handgrips, heaved himself up only to find himself steadied unexpectedly from inside by Ahmed who had been in the coach collecting the small suitcase he’d brought from Mirat and was now going to take back to Mirat in the Nawab’s Daimler.

  ‘Surely you’re not going yet?’

  ‘Not for a moment or two, father. I didn’t want to forget it though.’

  ‘Well give it to one of the people to take to the car then come and talk to me for a moment.’ He was conscious of the peremptory tone in his voice and wasn’t encouraged by it. He went down the corridor. Hosain was waiting. He slid the door open.

  ‘Tell them to bring tea or something.’

  He entered the compartment. Before he could sit Mr Mehboob followed him in and put the briefcase on a seat.

  ‘Where is Ahmed? I want to see him alone for a moment. And please shut the door. I’ve been standing all that time in the open.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have got out on to the road, Minister, when we had the puncture.’

  ‘How can they change a wheel with two people like us sitting at ease in the back? It is bad for the springs, Ahmed says, and it is the Nawab’s car and must be returned in good condition.’

  Hurt, Booby left the compartment and began to close the door but opened it again for Ahmed. Sulkily he shut it when Ahmed was inside.

  ‘Come, sit, they are bringing tea.’

  Ahmed looked at his watch but sat down. ‘I’ve not time for tea, father, it’s a long drive and the chauffeur wants to go to a garage to get the punctured wheel repaired so that we have a spare.’

  ‘There will be no garage open at this hour.’

  ‘He knows of one.’

  ‘It will take hours. You will get cold standing around.’

  ‘What he advises is best, father. So I mustn’t be long. Anyway they’re going to move the carriage at any moment.’

  ‘I don’t like you travelling alone in a car at night all the way to Mirat. It is a bad area round here. And the escort van has gone.’

  ‘I shan’t be alone, father. There’s the driver. Anyway, Booby came down at night. I can take care of myself just as well as he can.’

  ‘Booby is paid to risk his life,’ Kasim said. But smiled. Encouraged by Ahmed’s answering smile he said, ‘We have had no opportunity to talk today.’ That was untrue. He had deliberately avoided being alone with Ahmed. ‘What I want to suggest is that you come back now to Ranpur. Come back for a few days. There is a great deal to do and a great deal you can help me with. Poor Booby is such a muddler. Ring Dmitri in the morning and explain the necessity. If you like, send a note back with the driver too.’

  ‘I promised Dmitri I’d be away only two nights. There’s a meeting of Council tomorrow.’

  ‘Council, council. He doesn’t need you. The Council is Dmitri. Anyway, you do not attend these meetings personally.’

  His heart sank. It was so badly said. He wished he could withdraw the imputation that Ahmed’s official duties in Mirat were negligible; although he knew they were. He should never have agreed to Ahmed going to work in Mirat – but then he should never have let his elder son go into the army. Both had seemed acceptable enough solutions at the time. He had found adequate explanations: that India would need experienced officers; that it could be useful to have a son experienced in the administration of feudal survivals like the princely states. But for months now he had found these explanations less convincing than the other explanation – that in his heart he had felt at the time that neither son was capable of contributing much more. Neither son had inherited the spark. Neither son cared deeply about the things he cared for himself. The only thing he could still convince himself of was that he had believed, hoped, that in time they would, that their occupations would help to nourish in them the necessary passion, determination, and restraint.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you must go back, you must.’ He was not going to beg. Nor was he going to admit that he could not bear the thought of returning to the empty old house in the Kandipat road alone; although he believed that Ahmed understood this. When he had said to Sayed, No, Ahmed is not a child, he had not meant what Sayed thought he meant. He had been thinking of the occasion when Ahmed startled him with a shrewd assessment of the situation in which he might find himself – indeed now found himself; startled him into realizing it at a moment when he had been incapable of thinking clearly; the previous occasion at the Circuit House when they had brought him unprepared, without breakfast, from the fort, telling him nothing, so that he had feared the worst, that his wife was ill or dead and that they were releasing him on compassionate grounds as they had released Bapu when Kasturba was dying. He had nearly disgraced himself – finding Ahmed there – pathetically crying out ‘Then God is good!’ when Ahmed reassured him. Relief had been followed by bitter resignation when the truth came out, that his release was only partial, that he must suffer the humiliation of living under restriction at Mirat, and the bitter-sweet humiliation of learning that his wife was to share that restriction with him. And after the relief, the resignation and the humiliation, had come the shock of hearing Ahmed speak so calmly of Sayed’s capture in Manipur. Outraged, he had not only called his first-born son a traitor, but had insulted Ahmed. It had been unforgiveable, yet Ahmed had seemed to forgive it, had gone on, speaking calmly still, intelligently, about the motives Government might have in releasing him from the fort. It could have been the turning point in their relationship. His own stubbornness, his peremptoriness, his coldness of manner – carefully nurtured defences against the Islamic sin of betraying emotion – had perhaps been the chief impediments to closer understanding. And yet after that one moment, that opportunity they had had to be closer to one another, Ahmed had seemed to withdraw again. It was as if the spark of involvement and commitment had failed to ignite. Subsequently, Kasim had tried tentatively to kindle it again and sometimes Ahmed had seemed to respond, but when his mother became ill, fatally ill, the capacity to respond had seemed to be deliberately smothered, and he had become again merely dutiful in matters where dutifulness seemed obligatory. As now, when he was dutifully sitting on the opposite seat, but leaning forward, hands clasped, indicating imminent departure.

  ‘Well tell me, Ahmed, how you found things with Sayed?’

  ‘He looked very fit and cheerful, I thought. He says he’s treated pretty well.’

  ‘I know. I know. Did he say anything you feel you should tell me?’

  ‘We talked about hawking mostly. We weren’t alone. One of the subalterns sat in the room.’

  ‘But why was this?’

  ‘Major Merrick said his instructions were that only you could be alone with him. But he made the subaltern sit where he couldn’t hear easily. It didn’t matter really. It was amusing if anything.’

  ‘He is now Colonel Merrick. Didn’t you notice? Also he is either equally unobservant or deceitful. He told me Sayed was not among those he’d classify as unrepentantly proud of what he has done. It wasn’t my impression. Was it yours?’

  ‘I’d no impression either way. We didn’t talk about that kind of thing.’

  ‘Just about hawking?’

  ‘No, but mostly about me. I’m afraid I couldn’t think what to ask him about himself. One day must seem to him much like another, after all.’

  ‘What things about you, other than hawking?’

  ‘Oh, personal things.’ Ahmed grinned. ‘He said Merrick saw me drinking whisky in Bombay. He said I should stop that.’

  And, Kasim thought, they had probably talked about their mother’s illness and death, the temporary burial at Nanoora that would have to be gone through again so that she could rest finally in the Kasim tomb in Ranpur.

  ‘He said nothing about Jinnah, then?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He said he thought Nita was becoming very pro-Jinnah.’

  ‘Only th
at?’

  ‘Well he said Nita was probably pro-Jinnah because Guzzy was, and that wives usually follow their husbands in such things.’

  The steward knocked, slid back the door and brought in tea.

  ‘You’ll change your mind, Ahmed?’

  ‘No, I haven’t time. I must go in a minute.’

  ‘Then bring it later,’ Kasim told the steward. The steward went. ‘Sayed did not ask you your own view of Jinnah?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He did not tell you he had strongly recommended me to go over? And that he had undertaken to find out your own feelings?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that at all.’

  ‘Obviously he had begun to when he mentioned Nita. Were you interrupted soon after?’

  ‘Yes, they came and said time was up. We’d had our ten minutes or whatever it was.’

  ‘That’s all they allowed? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he attempted to do what he said he’d do. So let me settle the question – what your feelings would be if I went over to the League. The League is very strongly placed. In the last few years while most of the Congress was in prison they have paved the way to divide the country. In the elections they are likely to win most of the seats reserved for Muslims. Even my own is not safe. If I offered myself to the League Jinnah would welcome me. I might even get a portfolio in whatever central government he’s able to set up in whatever kind of Pakistan he is able to wrest out of us. To make sure of a portfolio I could also do what perhaps a father should. Publicly defend my son against charges of treason. I put it to you in these crude terms because for once, Ahmed, for once I am asking you to tell me what your honest opinion would be if I did these things. You said a moment ago that women always followed their husbands in such matters. Your mother always followed me. It was not easy for her eventually because her own family became very Pakistan conscious and very Jinnah conscious, just as Nita and Guzzy have become. What I am asking you is whether you and Sayed and Nita and your mother were thinking that I was wrong all the time, and that you were all conforming and saying nothing out of family loyalty. Whether it is your view that now I should in turn conform for everybody’s sake, including my own.’

  Beneath them the coach wheels clanked. The coach had been coupled to a shunting engine.

  ‘I’ve got no view, father,’ Ahmed said, getting up. ‘You know I don’t understand all these ins and outs. They don’t seem to me to have anything to do with ordinary problems, though I suppose they must. But however many solutions are found people are still always dying of starvation. All that kind of thing. Or if they aren’t dying of starvation they’re killing one another senselessly. It all means nothing to me, parties and such-like.’

  Kasim got up too.

  ‘Then it means you don’t care either way? That is one question out of the way at least. I shan’t have to consider your feelings, or rather shan’t have to feel conscience-stricken about you as well as Sayed. That is a relief. You see I made my mind up long ago what I would have to do. I have only been waiting for the moment when I was forced to take action. Let me just say this to you, Ahmed, that whatever your answer had been, my mind would not have been altered. But one likes to know where one stands with one’s own family. To me Sayed is a man whose actions remain indefensible because he broke his word, he broke his contract. It follows that I cannot break mine. Never in my life shall I go over to Jinnah. I did not say so to Sayed because I felt he did not deserve an answer either way –’

  The train shoved forward a yard or two and stopped abruptly. They avoided being thrown together by reaching for different handholds to steady themselves.

  ‘So that is the position,’ he said, righting himself. ‘You, I think, deserve to know. You had better go now, if you’re not coming to Ranpur.’

  He slid the door open and led the way down the deserted corridor. The train, after the clanking and jerking was unnaturally still; as if it had died. The carpet muffled the sound of footsteps. When he turned round, near the exit, it was almost a shock to find Ahmed so close behind him.

  Formally he embraced him.

  ‘Do not hang around too long in that garage. Find yourself some coffee or something.’

  ‘Yes, father, I’ll do that.’

  ‘And something stronger, no doubt, I expect you have your flask.’ He could smell the whisky behind the scent of garlic on his son’s breath. He let the boy go, then stopped him.

  ‘What I have said about Sayed, please never repeat. It might make things worse for him. The other thing, about Jinnah, is in confidence. It will become public knowledge soon, though. Since you profess political detachment I can’t expect you to approve or disapprove, but I’m sorry if I’ve spoken roughly. I haven’t meant to upset you.’

  Again the train jerked and this time began moving slowly forward. Ahmed grasped one handrail and began to get down. ‘Why should I be upset?’ he asked. ‘I’ve won my bet with Dmitri. He bet me you’d go over to Jinnah. I bet him you wouldn’t.’ The shunting engine’s whistle pierced. He raised his voice. ‘He wouldn’t offer stakes, though. We both expected me to win really.’

  Ahmed jumped and ran for several paces to maintain momentum.

  ‘Ahmed!’ Kasim cried, wanting him back.

  ‘Mind yourself! Shut the door!’ Ahmed shouted, coming to a halt in the cinder-yard.

  ‘Ahmed! What do you mean? Expected, or wanted? Ahmed!’

  But the cinder-yard had got up speed, taking Ahmed with it, taking him out of earshot, revealing more of its detail in the shape of coal bunkers and go-downs, the sudden glare of an arc-lamp, and then a suffocating smoky darkness which drove him in, back almost into Booby Sahib’s arms.

  ‘Minister, what are you doing? Why is the door open? Why isn’t someone here looking after things in a proper way? It is getting so that no one can be relied on to look after you at all.’

  ‘No, Booby,’ he said, placing a hand on the fat pudgy shoulder. ‘I am well looked after.’

  IV

  They paused in the ante-room while the aide who had called for him and Booby with a car at the Kandipat road knocked at the door, opened it, and then with a slight bow indicated that Kasim should go in and that Booby Sahib should stay where he was.

  When Kasim entered, the Governor was half-way across the long high-ceilinged room. He had on what looked like the same crumpled chalk-striped suit he’d worn on the day of the laying of the Chakravarti foundation-stone. He carried his spectacles in his left hand; the right was being offered.

  ‘Mr Kasim. Prompt as usual. How are you?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, Governor-ji. But this time the promptness is due chiefly to your Captain Thackeray who brought the car on time.’

  ‘The car didn’t embarrass you? I’m told your house has been pretty well besieged all day.’

  ‘Chiefly by well-wishers, fortunately.’

  ‘Good. I thought we’d sit here. The fire’s not really on. Just the imaginary coal bit. Say if you’re cold.’

  Without Malcolm having done anything visible to command it, the Government House magic worked, in the shape of doors opening and servants bringing in tea. There were five of them. Malcolm ignored them. They simply operated.

  ‘How is Lady Malcolm, Governor? I hope better?’

  ‘Somewhat better, thank you.’

  ‘Not as good as you hoped?’

  ‘No. I’m trying to get her to go home to see a particular chap. It’s just a question of finding a way of persuading her to leave Ootacamund. Then we’ll see.’

  They were now surrounded by an English-Indian tea. Kasim could smell the curry-puffs without even looking for them. The servants vanished as smoothly as they had appeared. When the last one had gone, Kasim said:

  ‘I shall not be contesting the elections.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ Only the voice betrayed disappointment. The face remained calm.

  ‘I shall recommend to my colleagues in the Congress Party that a man called Fazal Huq Rahman should stand
in my old constituency. He is still very anti-Jinnah very competent, and in my opinion stands the best chance of holding this Muslim seat for Congress, although undoubtedly my old sparring partner Nawaz Shah will leap at the opportunity to pass his own seat on to someone else and contest mine on behalf of the League.’

  They sipped the tea which the servants had poured.

  ‘Nawaz Shah?’

  ‘Abdul Nawaz Shah. Not to be confused with Shah Nawaz Khan.’

  The Governor smiled. He said, ‘I wasn’t Governor at the time, but I seem to remember you wanted Abdul Nawaz Shah in your nineteen thirty-seven Ministry.’

  ‘He is an able and dedicated man and in nineteen thirty-seven there were constitutional grounds for forming a coalition, as well as reasonable hopes of satisfying the League that our policies were not after all anti-Muslim. Now of course such hopes are very slender.’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid they are.’ Malcolm put his cup down. ‘All this means that you’re also not going to align yourself with the defence of the INA?’

  ‘Yes. It means that.’

  ‘Does it help if I point out that elections in this province won’t take place until some time in the New Year? By which time the subject of the INA might not be so delicate?’

  ‘Not really, Governor. The election campaigns will begin almost at once. It is clear that the subject of the INA will be taken up strongly by both major parties and just as clear that unless I align myself with the defence of INA personnel I should lose an important Muslim seat for Congress. The electorate would say, Who is this man who won’t defend even his own son?’