months; your mother and I will come over later.’ Buta Singh cupped his hands to receive prasad from Shunno.
‘I have just taken over the Union and even though the colleges are closed, there is a lot of work to do. Madan said his father has rented a large house in Simla and only he and his sister are going for the present. He suggested our sharing it with them. It may not be a bad idea if Beena and Champak went with them now; I will take off a few days in September before the colleges re-open.’ Sher Singh took his share of the prasad in his cupped hands.
Before Sabhrai could say anything, Buta Singh agreed that it was a good idea. ‘Of course, I will have to stay in a hotel — Cecil or Clarke’s. In Simla one meets many senior officials of the Punjab Government and the Government of India, and a good address is most important. You come to some arrangement with Wazir Chand’s family: take half the house and pay half the rent. I will see Taylor and discuss summer plans with him.’
The attitude of Buta Singh and his family to the Wazir Chands had undergone a change. Buta Singh had so completely triumphed over his colleague both in the eyes of the bureaucracy and in the estimation of the local populace that he could afford to adopt a patronizing attitude towards him. Sher Singh and Madan were constantly seeing each other during the elections and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Sher Singh’s easy success was in large measure due to Wazir Chand’s son. The opposition that had come from Sabhrai was silenced by Beena’s persistent refusal to go to Sita for help in her studies, and a not too subtle insinuation that her poor performance at the exams was a result of her mother’s attitude.
The Buta Singhs decided to call on the Wazir Chands to settle the business of going to Simla.
The arrival of Buta Singh and his family created quite a commotion in Wazir Chand’s house. They had turned up without warning. To emphasize the degree of familiarity that had developed between them, they trooped in without waiting to be announced.
‘Anyone there?’ shouted Buta Singh leading the way;Sabhrai, Sher Singh, and Beena followed behind him. They went through the sitting-room into the courtyard. Wazir Chand was lying on his belly on a fiber mattress with only a loin-cloth on his person. A servant was vigorously massaging his buttocks and legs with oil. Beside him seated on a chair was his son Madan shaving himself in front of a mirror placed on a stool; one side of his face was still covered with lather. His mother had just emerged from the lavatory at the far end of the courtyard and was scrubbing her water-jug with ashes. Sita, the only one who was dressed and ready, fled to her room utterly embarrassed.
‘Oho,’ said Buta Singh jovially. ‘You are having yourself massaged.’
Wazir Chand shook off the servant and got up hurriedly. He unwound the dirty dhoti on which he had been resting his chin and wrapped it round his legs; he spread a newspaper across his greasy, hairy chest. Madan wiped off the lather with a towel and stood up; his face looked like a lawn, only half of which had been mown.
‘Don’t disturb yourselves,’ protested Buta Singh. ‘This is like our own home. We are always this way.’
Sher Singh and Beena looked at each other and smiled.
‘Sardarji, come into the sitting-room. Oi, ask Sita to come out,’ ordered Wazir Chand.
‘I will get her,’ volunteered Beena and rushed away to Sita’s room. Wazir Chand put on a soiled shirt and conducted his guests to the sitting-room. Servants brought in trays of dried fruit and seltzer. Despite Buta Singh’s protests that they had just had breakfast, thatthis was like their own home, that they would ask for anything they wanted, they were talked into sampling the nuts and drinks placed before them.
The conversation started with the terrible heat and plans to escape to the hills. Then the women made a group of their own and got into a huddle
‘I have just taken over the Union and even though the colleges are closed, there is a lot of work to do. Madan said his father has rented a large house in Simla and only he and his sister are going for the present. He suggested our sharing it with them. It may not be a bad idea if Beena and Champak went with them now; I will take off a few days in September before the colleges re-open.’ Sher Singh took his share of the prasad in his cupped hands.
Before Sabhrai could say anything, Buta Singh agreed that it was a good idea. ‘Of course, I will have to stay in a hotel — Cecil or Clarke’s. In Simla one meets many senior officials of the Punjab Government and the Government of India, and a good address is most important. You come to some arrangement with Wazir Chand’s family: take half the house and pay half the rent. I will see Taylor and discuss summer plans with him.’
The attitude of Buta Singh and his family to the Wazir Chands had undergone a change. Buta Singh had so completely triumphed over his colleague both in the eyes of the bureaucracy and in the estimation of the local populace that he could afford to adopt a patronizing attitude towards him. Sher Singh and Madan were constantly seeing each other during the elections and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Sher Singh’s easy success was in large measure due to Wazir Chand’s son. The opposition that had come from Sabhrai was silenced by Beena’s persistent refusal to go to Sita for help in her studies, and a not too subtle insinuation that her poor performance at the exams was a result of her mother’s attitude.
The Buta Singhs decided to call on the Wazir Chands to settle the business of going to Simla.
The arrival of Buta Singh and his family created quite a commotion in Wazir Chand’s house. They had turned up without warning. To emphasize the degree of familiarity that had developed between them, they trooped in without waiting to be announced.
‘Anyone there?’ shouted Buta Singh leading the way;Sabhrai, Sher Singh, and Beena followed behind him. They went through the sitting-room into the courtyard. Wazir Chand was lying on his belly on a fiber mattress with only a loin-cloth on his person. A servant was vigorously massaging his buttocks and legs with oil. Beside him seated on a chair was his son Madan shaving himself in front of a mirror placed on a stool; one side of his face was still covered with lather. His mother had just emerged from the lavatory at the far end of the courtyard and was scrubbing her water-jug with ashes. Sita, the only one who was dressed and ready, fled to her room utterly embarrassed.
‘Oho,’ said Buta Singh jovially. ‘You are having yourself massaged.’
Wazir Chand shook off the servant and got up hurriedly. He unwound the dirty dhoti on which he had been resting his chin and wrapped it round his legs; he spread a newspaper across his greasy, hairy chest. Madan wiped off the lather with a towel and stood up; his face looked like a lawn, only half of which had been mown.
‘Don’t disturb yourselves,’ protested Buta Singh. ‘This is like our own home. We are always this way.’
Sher Singh and Beena looked at each other and smiled.
‘Sardarji, come into the sitting-room. Oi, ask Sita to come out,’ ordered Wazir Chand.
‘I will get her,’ volunteered Beena and rushed away to Sita’s room. Wazir Chand put on a soiled shirt and conducted his guests to the sitting-room. Servants brought in trays of dried fruit and seltzer. Despite Buta Singh’s protests that they had just had breakfast, thatthis was like their own home, that they would ask for anything they wanted, they were talked into sampling the nuts and drinks placed before them.
The conversation started with the terrible heat and plans to escape to the hills. Then the women made a group of their own and got into a huddle
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