A Suitable Boy
14.24
The previous evening’s meal had been hurried because of the preparations for Bakr-Id; but today’s late afternoon meal was relaxed. The tastiest dish was one made from the liver, kidneys and tripe of the goat that had just been slaughtered. Then the charpoys were shifted under the neem tree beneath which the goat had earlier been quietly browsing.
Maan, Baba and his two sons, Qamar—the sarcastic schoolteacher from Salimpur—as well as Rasheed’s uncle, the Bear, were all present for lunch. The talk turned naturally to Rasheed. The Bear asked Maan how he was doing.
‘Actually, I haven’t seen him since I returned to Brahmpur,’ confessed Maan. ‘He has been so busy with his tuitions, I suppose, and I myself with one thing and another—’
It was a feeble excuse, but Maan had not neglected his friend by intention. It was just the way things happened to be in his life.
‘I did hear that he was involved in the student Socialist Party,’ said Maan. ‘With Rasheed, though, there’s no fear that he’ll neglect his studies.’ Maan did not mention Saeeda Bai’s remark about Rasheed.
Maan noticed that only the Bear seemed truly concerned about Rasheed. After a while, and long after the conversation had passed on to other matters, he said: ‘Everything he does he does too seriously. His hair will be white before he’s thirty unless someone teaches him to laugh.’
Everyone was constrained when talking about Rasheed. Maan felt this acutely; but since no one—not even Rasheed himself—had told him how he had disgraced himself, he could not understand it. When Rasheed had read Saeeda Bai’s letter to him, Maan, being denied an early return to Brahmpur, had been seized with such restlessness that he had very shortly afterwards set out on a trek. Perhaps it was his own preoccupation that had blinded him to the tension in the family of his friend.
14.25
Netaji planned to hold a party the next night—a feast of meat for which he had another goat handy—in honour of various people of importance in the subdivision: police and petty administration officials and so on. He was trying to persuade Qamar to get the headmaster of his school in Salimpur to come. Qamar not only flatly refused, but made no secret of his contempt for Netaji’s transparent attempts to ingratiate himself with the worthy and the influential. Throughout the afternoon Qamar found some way or other of needling Netaji. At one point he turned to Maan with newfound friendliness and said, ‘I suppose that when your father was here, he was unable to shake off our Netaji.’
‘Well,’ said Maan, resisting a smile, ‘Baba and he very kindly showed my father around Debaria.’
‘I thought it might be something like that,’ said Qamar. ‘He was having tea with me in Salimpur when he heard from a friend of mine, who had dropped in, that the great Mahesh Kapoor was visiting his own native village. Well, that was the end of tea with me. Netaji knows which cups of tea contain more sugar. He’s as smart as the flies on Baba’s sputum.’
Netaji, affecting to be above such crude taunts, and still hopeful that he might be able to bag the headmaster, refused to get outwardly annoyed, and Qamar retired, disappointed.
Not long after this late lunch Maan took a rickshaw to Salimpur in order to catch the train back to Baitar. He didn’t want to arrive after Firoz had left. Although it was easier for Firoz, given his profession, to get away from Brahmpur than it was for Imtiaz, he might well turn out to have some date in court or some urgent call from a senior for a conference that would cut short his visit.
An attractive young woman with hennaed feet was singing a song to herself in the local accent as the rickshaw passed her. Maan caught just a few lines as he turned around to get a glimpse of her unveiled face:
‘O, husband, you can go but get me something from the fair—
Vermilion to overfill the parting in my hair.
Bangles from Firozabad, jaggery to eat—
And sandals made by Praha for my henna-coloured feet.’
She gave Maan a glance that was at once amused and angry as he gazed at her without embarrassment, and the memory of her look kept him in good spirits all the way to Salimpur Station.
14.26
Nehru’s coup was not followed by wholesale subservience to his desires.
In Delhi, in Parliament, opposition by MPs from all sections of the House, including his own, forced him to abandon his attempt to pass the Hindu Code Bill. This legislation, very dear to the Prime Minister’s heart—and to that of his Law Minister, Dr Ambedkar—aimed to make the laws of marriage, divorce, inheritance and guardianship more rational and just, especially to women.
Nor were the more orthodox Hindu legislators by any means on the defensive in the Legislative Assembly at Brahmpur. L.N. Agarwal had sponsored a bill that would make Hindi the state language from the beginning of the new year, and the Muslim legislators were rising one by one to appeal to him and to the Chief Minister and to the House to protect the status of Urdu. Mahesh Kapoor, who had returned to Brahmpur from the countryside, took no active part in the debate, but Abdus Salaam, his former Parliamentary Secretary, did make a couple of brief interventions.
Begum Abida Khan, of course, was at her oratorical best:
Begum Abida Khan: It is all very well for the honourable Minister to take the name of Gandhiji when espousing the cause of Hindi. I have nothing against Hindi, but why does he not agree to protect the status of Urdu, the second language of this province, and the mother tongue of the Muslims? Does the honourable Minister imagine that the Father of the Nation, who was willing to give his life to protect the minority community, would countenance a bill like the present one which will cause our community and our culture and our very livelihood to die a lingering death? The sudden enforcement of Hindi in the Devanagari script has closed the doors of government service on the Muslims. They cannot compete with those whose language is Hindi. This has created a first-class economic crisis among the Muslims—many of whom depend on the services for their livelihood. All of a sudden they have to face the strange music of the P.P. Official Language Bill. It is a sin to take the name of Gandhiji in this context. I appeal to your humanity, you who have shot us and hunted us down in our houses, do not be the author of further miseries for us.
The Hon’ble the Minister for Home Affairs (Shri L.N. Agarwal): I will ignore, as I am sure the House would wish me to, this last remark, and simply thank the honourable member for her heartfelt advice. If it were equally brain-thought, there might have been grounds for accepting it. The fact of the matter is that duplication of all government work in two languages, two scripts, is utterly impracticable and unworkable. That is all there is to it.
Begum Abida Khan: I will not appeal to the chair against the expressions of the honourable Minister. He is telling the whole world that he thinks that Muslims have no rights and women have no brains. I am hoping to appeal to his better instincts, but what hope do I have? He has been the prime mover in this government policy of stifling Urdu, which has led to the disappearance of many Urdu publications. Why is Urdu receiving this stepmotherly treatment at his hands? Why can the two brother languages not be adopted together? The elder brother has a duty to protect the younger brother, not to torment him.
The Hon’ble the Minister for Home Affairs (Shri L.N. Agarwal): You are asking for a two-language theory now, you will be asking for a two-nation theory tomorrow.
Shri Jainendra Chandla (Socialist Party): I am pained at the twist given to the debate by the honourable Minister. While Begum Abida Khan, whose patriotism nobody can doubt, has only asked that Urdu should not be stifled, the honourable Minister is trying to import the two-nation theory into the debate. I too am dissatisfied with the progress of Hindi. All the work in offices is carried on in English still, despite the many resolutions and regulations. It is English that we should be working to displace, not each other’s languages.
Shri Abdus Salaam (Congress): Some of my constituents have brought to my attention the fact that difficulties have been created in the syllabus for Urdu-reading stud
ents and that they have thus been deprived of the chance to study Urdu. If a small country like Switzerland can have four official languages, there can be no reason not to treat Urdu as at least a regional language in this state, which is several times as large. Facilities ought to be provided—and not only in name—for the teaching of Urdu in schools.
The Hon’ble the Minister for Home Affairs (Shri L.N. Agarwal): Our resources, unfortunately, are not unlimited. There are many madrasas and religious establishments all over the state where Urdu may be taught. As regards the official language of the state of Purva Pradesh, things must be made abundantly clear, so that there is no confusion, and people do not move on the wrong tracks from childhood, only to discover later that they are at a disadvantage.
Begum Abida Khan: The honourable Minister talks about how things must be made clear. But even the Constitution of India is not clear about the official language. It has stated that English will be replaced at the Centre after fifteen years. But even then it will not happen automatically. A commission will be appointed, which will go into the whole question and report to the government as to what progress Hindi has made and the question of replacing English completely will then be decided on a reasonable basis, not by fiat and prejudice. I wonder, if a foreign language like English can be tolerated in this way, why can Urdu not be tolerated? It is one of the glories of our province—it is the language of its finest poet, Mast. It is the language of Mir, of Ghalib, of Dagh, of Sauda, of Iqbal, of Hindu writers like Premchand and Firaq. Yet even though it has a richer tradition, Urdu does not claim equal status with Hindi. It can be treated like any other regional language. But it must not be dispossessed as is being done.
The Hon’ble the Minister for Home Affairs (Shri L.N. Agarwal): Urdu is not being dispossessed, as the honourable member supposes. Anyone who learns the Devanagari script will find no difficulty in coping.
Begum Abida Khan: Can the honourable Minister tell this House in all heartfelt honesty that there is no real difference between the two languages except one of script?
The Hon’ble the Minister for Home Affairs (Shri L.N. Agarwal): Heartfelt or otherwise, that is what Gandhiji planned: he aimed for Hindustani as the ideal, which would take both languages as its source.
Begum Abida Khan: I am not talking about ideals and about what Gandhiji planned. I am talking about facts and what is happening all around us. Listen to All India Radio and try to understand its news bulletins. Read the Hindi versions of our bills and acts—or if, like me and other Muslims and even many Hindus of this province, you cannot read them, then have them read out to you. You will not understand one word in three. It is all becoming stupidly and stiltedly Sanskritized. Obscure words are being dug out of old religious texts and being reburied in our modern language. It is a plot of the religious fundamentalists who hate anything to do with Islam, even Arabic or Persian words that the common people of Brahmpur have used for hundreds of years.
The Hon’ble the Minister for Home Affairs (Shri L.N. Agarwal): The honourable member has a gift for fantasy that excites my admiration. But she is, as usual, thinking from right to left.
Begum Abida Khan: How dare you speak like that? How dare you? I would like full-fledged Sanskrit to be made the official language of the state—then you too will see! One day it will be full-fledged Sanskrit that you will be forced to read and speak, and it will make you clutch at your hair even harder. Then you too will be made to feel a stranger in your own land. So it will be better if Sanskrit is made the official language. Then both Hindu and Muslim boys will have an equal start and be able to compete on an equal footing.
The debate proceeded in this manner, with importunate waves of protest washing over an adamant sea wall. Finally, closure was moved by a member of the Congress Party and the House rose for the day.
14.27
Just outside the chamber Mahesh Kapoor collared his old Parliamentary Secretary.
‘So, you rogue, you’re still with the Congress.’
Abdus Salaam turned around, pleased to hear the voice of his ex-Minister.
‘We must talk about that,’ he said, glancing a little to left and right.
‘We haven’t talked for a long time, it seems to me—ever since I’ve been in the opposition.’
‘It isn’t that, Minister Sahib—’
‘Ah, at least you call me by my old title.’
‘But of course. It’s just that you’ve been away—in Baitar. Associating with zamindars, I hear,’ Abdus Salaam couldn’t help adding.
‘Didn’t you go back home for Id?’
‘Yes, that’s true. We’ve both been away, then. And before that I was in Delhi for the AICC meeting. But now we can talk. Let’s go to the canteen.’
‘And eat those fearful greasy samosas? You young people have stronger stomachs than us.’ Mahesh Kapoor appeared, despite everything, to be in a good mood.
Abdus Salaam was in fact quite fond of the greasy samosas that the canteen provided as one of its snacks. ‘But where else can we go, Minister Sahib? Your office, alas—’ He smiled regretfully.
Mahesh Kapoor laughed. ‘When I left the Cabinet, Sharma should have made you a Minister of State. Then you at least would have had an office of your own. What’s the point of remaining a Parliamentary Secretary if there’s no one to be secretary to?’
Abdus Salaam too started laughing in a gentle way. He was a scholarly rather than an ambitious man, and he often wondered how he had strayed into politics and why he had remained there. But he had discovered he had a sleepwalker’s flair for it.
He thought about Mahesh Kapoor’s last remark. ‘If nothing else, there’s a subject to handle,’ he responded. ‘The Chief Minister has left me free to manage that.’
‘But until the Supreme Court decides the matter there’s nothing you can do about it,’ said Mahesh Kapoor. ‘And even after they’ve decided whether the First Amendment is valid or not the zamindars’ appeal against the High Court judgement about the act itself will have to be decided. And any action is bound to be stayed till then.’
‘It’s only a question of time; we’ll win both cases,’ said Abdus Salaam, looking into the vague middle distance as he sometimes did when thinking. ‘And by then no doubt you will be Minister of Revenue again—if not something even better. Anything could happen. Sharma could be kicked upwards to the Cabinet in Delhi, and Agarwal could be murdered by one of Begum Abida Khan’s glances. And since you would be back in the Congress you would be the obvious choice for Chief Minister.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Mahesh Kapoor, looking at his protégé piercingly. ‘Do you think so? If you are doing nothing better, let’s go home for a cup of tea. I like these dreams of yours.’
‘Yes, I have been dreaming a lot—and sleeping a lot—these days,’ said Abdus Salaam cryptically.
They continued to talk as they strolled along to Prem Nivas.
‘Why did you not intervene in the discussion this afternoon, Minister Sahib?’ asked Abdus Salaam.
‘Why? You know the reason perfectly well. I can’t read a word of Hindi, and I don’t want attention drawn to the fact. I’m popular enough among the Muslims—it’s the Hindu vote that will be my problem.’
‘Even if you rejoin the Congress?’
‘Even if I rejoin the Congress.’
‘Do you plan to?’
‘That is what I want to talk over with you.’
‘I might be the wrong person to talk to.’
‘Why?’ asked Mahesh Kapoor. ‘Surely you’re not thinking of leaving it?’
‘That’s what I want to talk over with you.’
‘Well,’ said Mahesh Kapoor thoughtfully, ‘this will require several cups of tea.’
Abdus Salaam did not know how to make small talk, so hardly had he sipped his tea than he plunged straight in with a question.
‘Do you really think that Nehru is back in the saddle?’
‘Do you really doubt it?’ countered Mahesh Kapoor.
‘In a
way I do,’ said Abdus Salaam. ‘Look at this Hindu Code Bill. It was a great defeat for him.’
‘Well,’ said Mahesh Kapoor, ‘not necessarily. Not if he wins the next election. Then he’ll treat it as a mandate. In a way he’s made certain of that, because it’s now become an election issue.’
‘You can’t say he intended that. He simply wanted to pass the bill into law.’
‘I don’t disagree with that,’ said Mahesh Kapoor, stirring his cup.
‘And he couldn’t hold his own MPs, let alone Parliament, together to pass it. Everyone knows what the President of India thinks of the bill. Even if Parliament had passed it, would he have signed it?’
‘That is a separate issue,’ said Mahesh Kapoor.
‘You’re right about that,’ admitted Abdus Salaam. ‘The question in my mind, though, is one of grip and timing. Why place the bill before Parliament when there was so little time to argue it? A few discussions, a filibuster, and it was bound to die.’
Mahesh Kapoor nodded. He was thinking about something else too. It was the fortnight for the performance of shraadh, the rites to appease the spirits of one’s dead. Mahesh Kapoor could never be prevailed upon to perform these rites, and this upset Mrs Mahesh Kapoor. And immediately after this fortnight came the nights of the Ramlila leading up to the fiery celebration of Dussehra. This was the great Hindu festive season, and it would continue till Divali. Nehru could not possibly have chosen a worse time, psychologically speaking, to introduce a bill that attempted to upset Hindu law and transform Hindu society.
Abdus Salaam, after waiting for Mahesh Kapoor to speak, continued: ‘You saw what happened in the Assembly, you can see how the L.N. Agarwals of this world continue to operate. No matter what happens at the Centre, that is the shape of things to come in the states. At least, so I think. I do not see much changing. The people who have their hands on the party levers—people like Sharma and Agarwal—will not easily let Nehru prise them off. Look at how quickly they’re rushing to form their election committees and to start their selection of candidates in the states. Poor Nehru—he is like a rich merchant, who, after crossing the seas, is drowned in a little stream.’