Tikkipala (28 page)

‘So what is the idea?' asked the Raja.

When they had finished, Anoo said ferociously, ‘I shall not have my girl marrying a man who is not keen.'

‘Please, Anoo, just listen to us, for it is not like that at all. Once he is in the control of a good wife we are sure that he will start to see the benefits of the married state and when the children are on the way he will be forced into taking an interest in career.'

‘Otherwise, although a little untidy, he is perfectly charming in every kind of way,' said Srila.

The Raja sighed and reflected how he had never, in all his life, been free of the manipulation of women. Even his little daughter always managed to persuade him against his will in the end. ‘If Devi is to marry, I would like it to be to a tidy man,' he said weakly.

‘Devi cannot be as fussy as if she was a young and a pretty girl,' said Mala strongly.

Anoo flushed, annoyed at the implication.

‘Of course, Anoo,' said Srila hastily, ‘We are not saying your Devi is not pretty. It is only that she does not make the best of herself. Get that girl into a nice sari and some jewellery and I'm sure she will look as pretty as any other twenty five year old.'

‘Twenty three,' said Anoo crossly.

‘And,' went on Mala, ‘since this girl is immune to the proper way of doing these things, you must put temptation in her path in the way of some kind of suitable boy who will also share her interest.'

‘Why don't you employ this fellow, in the fertilizer department perhaps, then send him to Parwal? Put him in line of sight with our niece and we will see what happens next.'

But when Queenie told her grandson that the Raja was offering him a job, Nirmal protested that he did not want a career in fertiliser, had no interest in the stuff at all, and refused to go to the interview. His grandmother cut him off with the wave of a jewelled hand. ‘Silence. You will do as I say and make the best of it or I shall remain
displeased with you for several years for the Raja is a friend of mine and is offering the hand of help to you so that your future will be ensured.'

‘I will not go,' said Nirmal crossly.

Queenie contacted her son, Nirmal's father. ‘This is the boy's last chance. Try to persuade him.'

Nirmal's father tried wheedling. ‘You keep saying you want to be an artist and an artist needs money not only to live but also to purchase art materials.' When Nirmal continued to be stubborn the father became angry and, hammering the table with his fists, shouted, ‘If your grandmother wishes it, then this is what you must do for as you know I have no capital and your grandmother is constantly threatening to leave her fortune to my younger brother if we displease her. So if you don't turn up at this job interview, or if I have heard that you have not done you best to obtain the position, then I shall throw you out of this house and no longer look on you as son.'

‘And I will kill myself if you don't get this job,' wept Nirmal's mother.

Sighing gloomily, at last Nirmal agreed.

The Raja was taken aback at the extent of the young man's dishevelment. Nirmal arrived fifteen minutes late for the interview, panting, trailing untied shoe laces and tucking in his stained and torn shirt which lacked several of its buttons. ‘I'm sorry,' he gasped. ‘I nearly overslept.'

The Raja, biting back his annoyance, said, ‘I am sending you to the district of Parwal where I hope you will find a market for our product. I understand you are interested in stone sculpture, and the area is famous for the quality and variety of its marble and mineral stone.' It was only as Nirmal was leaving that the Raja told him, casually, ‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to look up my daughter, who is staying in
a family home only seventy miles away. I have not heard from her for some time and would welcome some news. I will write to her and tell her of your visit and will arrange for her to come and meet you in the Parwal club.' The fellow did not look sufficiently organised, decided the Raja, to find his way to the hill palace. ‘She is also interested in these mineral stones and has quite a collection up there,' he added.

He felt a little nervous, fearing Devi's anger, in case she saw through the plan, and also deceitful although his sisters had assured him that he was doing the duty of a father. It took him a long time to write the letter to his daughter because, though he wanted to persuade her, he did not want her to feel tricked. But he managed it at last, ending the letter with, ‘It will be such a reassurance to me if you would meet the gentleman, because then he could come back to me to tell me that you are looking well and have been eating properly. Otherwise I stay here alone worrying about you all the time. Also you might find him interesting because, I am told, he is also interested in stone.'

When Devi got the letter from her father, she sighed with irritation. She had caught sight of something glittering in the sun higher up and had planned to spend the day climbing till she reached it. Why should her father expect her to travel all the way to the Parwal Club to meet this old man? The fellow would probably patronise her and sneer at her collection. She suspected that really her father only wanted to find out how she was and had exaggerated when he described the man as a stone enthusiast. And how she wished her father wouldn't always refer to the wonderful minerals and crystals as mere stones. But then the thought came to her that perhaps this man might really know a lot about minerals. Perhaps he had heard of the Ama and could tell her how to find it. Perhaps he would be able to judge, from what it looked like, what kind of land it might be found in. And also her father would be hurt if she offended his friend by not making the trip.

Khan was relieved when Devi told him she wished to be driven to the Parwal Planters Club. ‘This is a very good decision, Madam, for there you will meet people of your own type, and you will be away from these jungly fellows for one evening at least.' He reflected, as he drove, that hopefully, when Madam found herself among her own people, she would realise what she was missing and decide to return home to order, safety and civilisation.

They reached the club at four and Devi staggered from the car, stiff, dusty and already regretting the journey. Down here the air felt heavy, like warm soup, and even
as she made her way into the club, she was already hankering for the fresh clear air of the hills. She went through the veranda on which tables were laid out for tea. Nets edged with shells hung over the milk jugs to keep the flies out and the sandwiches were folded inside damp, embroidered muslin cloths. Turbaned bearers with brass numbers pinned to their starched uniforms moved grandly and smoothly among the tables of club members, putting down dishes of hot mutton cutlets and pots of tea. Though most of the guests were Indian, Devi saw some Europeans too, looking oddly beige all over from their hair to skin to clothes. Everyone looked up at Devi's approach then tried to seem as though they were not looking for they had all heard about the crazy little Ranee who had been living alone among the hill bandits, who had captured a ferocious and as yet unidentified wild animal and given shelter and medical attention to a wild boy from the trees. Respectable married ladies raised their eyebrows at the sight of Devi, because although they had been warned, still her hacked off hair, battered jeans and a t-shirt across which was written in blurry ball point, ‘Stop murdering our mountains' was delightfully shocking.

Devi made her way among the tables, wishing she was back among her ham fisted bandits, whose curious gawping seemed less rude than the surreptitious peeping of all these respectable people. She felt shocked at how ugly most of them were. The Europeans had scarlet noses. Most of the older Indian women had arms as fat as bolsters and were bursting out of their cholis. The bellies of the men were slopping over their belts. She had not, till now, thought the bandits particularly handsome. They had wild hair and scarred faces but now she felt a pang of longing to be looking at them again.

She wondered which of these boring looking people could be her father's friend. Perhaps that bald old man over there, or the obese fellow in the shirvani.

In her room, which had chintz curtains, a floral bed spread and a frill round the dressing table, she pulled off her sweaty clothes and considered telling Khan to get back in the car and take her home again. But she knew she could not do it. The poor man had been driving all day and must be even more tired than she was. She would have to bear one night here, but decided she would leave first thing in the morning. She stood under the shower, letting the tepid gritty water trickle over her skin and when she had dried herself, pulled her father's borrowed kurta on. It was too hot to bear anything heavier against her skin. Out of the window the sun was setting, and people had moved out onto the lawn, where under the light of candles and little lamps, they were now sipping drinks. The heavy sweet scent of Raat Ki Rani drenched the air. It did not look quite so horrible out there now. Smells of cooking food wafted up to the window and made her feel suddenly and wildly hungry.

She would have to go down now, she realised. Gritting her teeth, she pulled back on her heavy sweaty jeans, because she had brought nothing else, and went reluctantly downstairs.

A small breeze had arisen by the time she went out. She found a table and sat down. The bearer came to take her order and she asked him to tell Mr. Rao that she had arrived. Then she leant back, sipped her brandy soda and waited, a little less cross than before because the lighted lawn looked pretty and she was anticipating a plate of panneer tikka and French fries to keep her going till dinner. The moon had risen. Large pale insects fluttered among the strings of coloured light hanging from the trees and dived with a sizzle of burnt wings, into the lamps on the tables. The ugly people had become better looking in the softened light. A girl began to play the sitar.

‘Devi Bidwar?'

Devi looked up.

An untidy young man stood there, apologetically smiling. She stared at him. After a while he said, ‘Er.'

When she understood that this was the person her father had arranged for her to meet, Devi's cheeks flushed with fury and humiliation. She thought her father had given up these tricks, that he had accepted that she was not going to get married, and had stopped setting young men in her path in the hope she might be attracted.

The young man looked startled at her reaction. ‘I'm sorry,' he said, and pulled off his glasses as though unable to think of anything better to do that might soothe her. ‘What have I done? What's the matter?'

Devi slopped her drink, whacked at the spilled liquid with her napkin and glaring at the man said accusingly, ‘You aren't old.'

‘I'm really sorry about that,' said Nirmal. ‘But I will be old one day, I suppose. If I live long enough. Will that do?'

Devi let out a breathy sound that was almost a growl. ‘It is not funny,' she stormed. She was talking so loudly that people at the surrounding tables had all turned to look. ‘My father had no right.'

‘Could I get you another drink?' asked Nirmal.

‘Oh, shut up,' shouted Devi.

A quiver of delight rippled over the lawn. Even people at the furthest end could hear the row.

Nirmal waved a dismissive hand towards the moon of staring faces. ‘Silly fools. They've got nothing to say to each other so they listen to us.'

‘There is no us,' snapped Devi, trying to keep her fury alive.

Ignoring this Nirmal called the bearer over. ‘What were you drinking? Brandy soda?' and to the bearer, ‘Bring us two. Doubles.'

‘No,' said Devi.

‘Oh, and the menu,' Nirmal added. And to Devi, ‘Or have you eaten already?'

‘That is none of your business,' snorted Devi. ‘And even if I have not, I do not intend to share a table with you.'

‘OK. Right,' said Nirmal. ‘Look, let's do it like this. I'll sit at the next table and we can talk to each other over the gap. Or, perhaps, so that the other people don't all feel they have to join in, we could have the two tables drawn together. What do you think?'

Devi tried glaring at him with her hands on her hips. But in the end because the whole thing was growing silly and embarrassing, she said, ‘Go on then. Sit here. What do I care?' She slammed herself back into her chair reflecting that the only good thing about it was that the fellow's lips had not even done a twitch of a smile. If he had laughed, or even grinned she would probably had thrown something at him.

‘So, right,' he said as he took the other seat. ‘Tell me what you've found. Is there malachite here?'

Devi tried not to answer. She pinched her lips, but could not stop the words getting out. ‘Yes. And also adventurine.' She tried to sound grim, but it was difficult when she mentioned something so exciting. ‘And Rhodonite,' she told him, keeping her tones steadily expressionless. After that she could not keep it up. Suddenly she was telling him of how, recently, she had unearthed the rose red fragment with pitch black veins. And then she told him of the breathless moment when she saw the beads round the monkey boy's waist.

‘How long will you be here?' Devi asked Nirmal when they had finished eating.

‘Not long, thank goodness,' he said and made a face.

‘Why? Don't you like working for my father?'

Nirmal shrugged. ‘I'm in fertiliser,' he said.

Devi burst out laughing. ‘You make it sound like ‘I'm in shit'.'

He did not contradict her.

‘Isn't that what you want to do then? Why did you take the job if you don't like it?'

‘It was arranged by my grandmother. Cut and dried,' said Nirmal. ‘She went to your father and persuaded him.'

‘My father can always be persuaded by charming ladies so I suppose that is what your grandmother is.'

‘I suppose so,' said Nirmal. ‘Anyway, apparently I've made a balls-up of the paperwork. I'm being sent back to Bidwar.' He sounded happy.