The Crow Eaters (9 page)

FOLLOWING the fire, Jerbanoo ceased to be a problem. Freddy, electrified by a series of successful enterprises, had little time to brood on her irksome ways.

For her part, Jerbanoo was subdued beyond recognition. In Freddy’s presence she was as quiet and unobtrusive as a fat little mouse. Not that she was convivial or full of kindly forgiveness. Not at all. She hated his guts. But her terror of his unprincipled methods outbid her loathing. Her terror was such she had not let out even a peep of her suspicions. Not even to Putli. She was convinced of Freddy’s true intent, but shrewd enough to know that no one would believe her.

But her lot was not altogether pitiful. Her dramatic rescue from the jaws of death had given her glamorous renown and she was sought after and made much of by her friends and her daughter.

Freddy, though disappointed that the stone he had so carefully aimed had secured only one bird, was nevertheless content. Years later, when Jerbanoo gradually returned to her former ways, he found refuge in the comforting axiom: ‘What cannot be cured, must be endured.’

Putli, now that things had worked out so well, contentedly went on producing her babies. Four daughters and three sons in all; of whom Behram, Billy for short, was the second last.

Behram Junglewalla was an ugly child. His mother, looking at the dark, large-nosed, squalling infant, remarked, ‘I can hardly believe he is mine. He is so different from the others. Look at the funny amount of hair he has!’

‘What does it matter? Haven’t you produced enough good-
looking brats? Don’t worry, by the time he grows up he’ll look all right,’ consoled Freddy.

But Behram Junglewalla was one of fortune’s favourites!

Years went by. Freddy expanded his business. He hobnobbed with Maharajas and Englishmen. As opportunity beckoned, he dabbled in a variety of trades, deftly ‘buttering and marmalading’ the Col. Williamses of his acquaintance and obliging others like Mr Allen with Scotch and dancing girls.

Hutoxi was married off, and then Ruby. Jerbanoo, succinctly cramming all the wisdom of her short married life into two incomparable strictures, advised each on her nuptial night.

‘Now don’t you go around stripping yourselves naked and lying flat on your backs like plucked chickens. Mark my words, you will lose your husbands that way. Show as little as you can, as slowly as you can. If you remove your drawers, leave your blouse on, and if you remove your blouse never remove your drawers! That will intrigue him all his life and keep his interest and virility intact.

‘And remember, always keep yourself busy with housework. Stop reading story books – they have been invented by the demons of indolence. Idleness will make you brood. As for me, I was never idle. Even when your grandfather was making love I busied myself removing blackheads from his neck and shoulders.’

How far the blushing brides followed these injunctions, I cannot say.

Freddy merely remarked, ‘Poor Mr Chinimini. He didn’t have much to live for, did he?’

‘AND from then on I never looked back,’ said Faredoon coming to the end of a story. His enraptured audience continued to look at him. Faredoon was comfortably ensconced in his cane-backed armchair, his legs propped up in a V on the sliding arm rests.

‘What year was it?’ asked Ardishir Cooper, breaking the spell. The slight, young man was Faredoon’s son-in-law. He had been married four years. Hutoxi sat primly on the sofa with her husband.

‘The fire took place in 1901,’ said Freddy. ‘I thought my world had come to an end. I cried, literally sobbed, like a baby. You can ask your father, he’ll tell you. Of course, I did not know then how things would turn out - I didn’t know it was a blessing in disguise.

‘I used to pray daily, asking God’s blessing, and when the fire struck, I struck my forehead and cried, “O God, why have You done this to me?” But God works in mysterious ways. He never forgets those who remember Him.’

‘What became of the adjoining shops?’ asked Soli. He and his friend, Jimmy Paymaster, were sitting cross-legged on the Persian carpet. Billy, fourteen years old, undersized and scrawny, sat next to them, leaning against the sofa.

‘They repaired and painted their premises like I did. They’d had time to remove everything. There was very little damage to the toy shop in any case. The broker was quite well off. He’s moved to Mall Road now – he’s doing all right.’

‘When did we start the store in Amritsar?’ asked Soli.

Faredoon smiled at his son. It was a special smile, proud
and adoring. People likened Soli to him – but he felt his son was better-looking than he’d ever been. Pausing for a moment, he allowed his eyes to feast on the long, golden limbs, on the intelligent, red-lipped face. Soli was nineteen.

Billy felt a lump rise in his throat. He swallowed silently and fixed his hurt, bespectacled eyes on the soles of Faredoon’s bare feet. He watched a blue vein throb in the ankle. His father never looked at any of them the way he looked at Soli.

Billy glanced at Yazdi. Lounging against the wall, his thin endless legs stretched out before him, Yazdi was, as usual, lost in the world of his poetic fantasies.

‘Now, let me see,’ said Freddy. ‘I think the store in Amritsar was opened a year or two after the fire. Oh yes, I remember now, it was the same year Billy was born – 1903. A few years later I opened up in Peshawar. The one in Delhi was established only a couple of years back.’

Faredoon liked to explain his business to Soli. The boy was eager to learn and interested. Being the eldest male he would inherit everything some day, and Faredoon was happy that it should be so.

Ten year old Katy, their youngest child, suddenly chirped up, ‘Oh, Papa, please tell us about grandmother and the basket. Please!’

Faredoon ran a hand over his thick, greying hair.

‘Ask your grandmother to tell you sometime. She loves relating that story.’

Jerbanoo appeared in the door, filling it completely. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she announced.

Freddy made no move to get up. Reclining majestically, his legs propped up, he gazed at her. Her arms, bulging through tight sleeves, were like barrels. She stood sturdy and defiant in the short, thick column of her sari. Jerbanoo’s face sagged a bit at the jowls but her skin remained smooth and taut. Her eyebrows were as striking as ever.

She raised them. ‘Come on, come on. It can’t wait all
evening. The food will get cold while you lie with your legs up in the air.’

Freddy lowered his feet good-naturedly and slipped them into his slippers.

‘We were just talking of you when you came. That means you’ll live very long, doesn’t it?’ cried Katy.

Freddy rose from the armchair. The others stood up, smoothing out their clothes.

‘Yes, yes, your grandmother will live for ever. She hasn’t half the grey hair I have,’ he said.

‘That’s right. And we are none of us growing any younger either,’ snapped Jerbanoo, her shrewish eyes mean with envy. For Freddy, if anything, looked handsomer than in his youth. He would grow into a gracious and kindly looking old man and no one would know how diabolically wily, unscrupulous, and false he really was.

AT the first glimmer of dawn Freddy sat up. He looked at the row of charpoys, humped and shadowy in the faint light. His family was sound asleep. It was a hot night in June and they slept on the roof. There were still a few stars in the sky. Putli’s charpoy was next to his, then the charpoys of the five children, and last of all, Jerbanoo’s.

Each summer they slept on the roof. And each year the row grows shorter, thought Freddy with a painful twinge of loss and loneliness. Hutoxi and Ruby were married. One by one the others would get married …

Jerbanoo stirred at the other end and the strings of her charpoy creaked rebelliously.

Freddy knew she also had spent a restless night. It was incredibly hot and incredibly dry. The terrace still radiated the heat absorbed during the day. Twice that night Freddy had sprinkled water on his bed-sheets. He had heard Jerbanoo splash water over herself in the washroom and following her example, had drenched himself and returned dripping to his damp charpoy. When he drifted off to sleep, he knew the hot air would suck up the moisture in minutes.

Freddy stood up. It was time for dawn prayers. Stepping quietly, he crossed over to the staircase and went down to the kitchen. He was thirsty. Summer thirsty. It was the kind of thirst quenched only when the weather cooled.

Freddy dipped his silver glass into the brown earthenware water jar. The round-bellied container stood on a stool. The servant filled the
matka
at night, and by morning the water was miraculously cold. The porous texture of the fragile clay worked as a refrigerating agent.

The glass felt deliriously cool in Freddy’s hand. He took a long eager swallow and was almost through by the time he realised the water tasted of salt. He took a small sip and swished the water intently between his teeth … Yeess … it was definitely brackish.

Freddy rinsed the glass, and the water again tasted salty. He stood a moment pondering thoughtfully. Then he lifted the jug and drained the water into the sink. He filled it fresh from the tap and replaced it on the stool. It would be hours before the water cooled again.

‘I’ve never known such heat,’ remarked Putli at breakfast. ‘The water in the
matka
is still lukewarm.’

The next morning Freddy awoke with a curious sense of anticipation. He knew he had to do something … and he remembered. Slipping down quietly, he dipped the glass into the jar and took a cautious sip. No doubt about it! The water was faintly brackish. He wondered if he should leave it be. At least the water was cold … the taste of salt was barely perceptible … no, he had better change it.

Why did it always have to be summer? he said to himself fretfully. Couldn’t they choose a cooler time of year to broadcast their passions? He could be mistaken though. The water might be brackish at its source. He had better wait and be sure.

For three days the bewildered family drank lukewarm water.

‘Everybody else says their
matkas
are quite all right. What’s wrong with ours?’ demanded Putli.

Freddy sipped his tea tranquilly.

‘Must be that Krishan Ram! He probably forgets to fill the
matka
at night and does it early in the morning. I’ll find out soon enough.’ Putli rushed into the kitchen to cross-examine the unfortunate and mystified servant.

On the fourth morning Freddy sipped the water. It was pure, cool and delicious to his taste. He smacked his lips significantly.

Freddy lingered over his tea. The children had gone. The
servant cleared the breakfast dishes and Putli got up to follow him to the kitchen.

‘Just a minute,’ said Freddy, calling Putli back. He motioned to her to sit down.

‘What was the water like today?’ he asked.

‘All right, of course! Didn’t you hear me give that clod a good scolding yesterday? If he’d do one thing by himself, but no! I’ve to be at him all the time. I don’t know –’

‘It is not his fault,’ Faredoon interposed gently. ‘I changed the water every morning myself.’

‘You? Why?’ gasped Putli.

‘Because it had salt in it. For three mornings it was brackish and today it was quite all right.’

He looked at Putli as the words sank in. His heavy-lidded, brown eyes smiled.

‘Oh,’ she said. Putli’s features softened. ‘I wonder which one it is?’

‘Whoever it is I wish they wouldn’t go about “falling in love” in summer. Can’t they choose autumn, winter, spring? I can’t stand lukewarm water in this heat.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Putli absently. ‘It’s the heat I suppose – they have so little else to do … I wonder who it is though,’ she mused aloud.

‘Either Soli or Yasmin. Katy and Billy are too young – so is Yazdi – he’s only sixteen isn’t he?’

‘Fifteen,’ corrected Putli.

‘Well, as I said, that leaves only Soli and Yasmin. I’ve seen Soli eye the Toddywalla girl once or twice … Anyway, I’ll tackle him. You tackle Yasmin.’

Putli nodded. ‘Yes. But please be tactful. You know how shy they are at this age.’

‘Don’t you worry,’ replied Freddy, dredging the last drops of syrupy tea from his cup.

After school the children returned, and Freddy summoned Soli to his office. ‘I think there is some shortage in the stock – I want you to check the spirits store,’ he said, handing Soli a bunch of keys.

Soli was used to this. Taking the stock register from the counter drawer, he went into the store-room.

He loved working in the cellar. The dank, twilight air was saturated with the mellow odours of pine-wood packing cases, of jute sacks and packing straw. Commingling with these was the heady, exotic scent of wine and liqueurs seeping through damaged bottles. He counted the cases, meticulously ticking them off against the columns in the stock book.

He had been at it ten minutes when Freddy came in.

‘I’ll help you,’ he said.

Father and son were closeted in the cellar for two hours.

After dinner Freddy asked Soli if he would like to come along for a stroll.

‘I’ll come with you, Papa,’ volunteered Yazdi promptly.

‘I didn’t ask you, did I? You had better finish your homework first.’ Freddy’s tone was kind but firm.

When they returned from their walk, Putli was in her room.

‘What news?’ she asked, sitting up as Freddy came in to change.

‘None yet. I gave him every blessed opportunity to be alone with me. Two hours in the store-room, then the walk, but not a peep from him. I wonder if it is he.’

‘Must be – because it’s not Yasmin.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Well, I couldn’t very well ask her directly, but I mentioned the salty taste in the water, and she was surprised. I’m sure it’s not her. Did you say anything – I mean, ask Soli something that would lead up to it?’

‘No. But he had all the time in the world to have a go at it if he wanted to.’

‘There! You see! That’s not enough. Soli may look bold but he is bashful. Quite like you really, come to think of it. You must try and get him to talk gradually, tactfully. Just a few
leading questions. Tell him about us – you know what I mean …’

‘I’ll do that tomorrow,’ agreed Freddy.

Putli picked up the lamp and they climbed up. Electricity had been introduced to Lahore but the terrace and the steps leading up had not been wired as yet.

The children and Jerbanoo were asleep. Freddy leaned over the bed. He lowered the wick of the lamp, removed the chimney and pinched out the flame.

The night was humid. It meant the monsoons would break earlier than expected.

‘I think the rains will come soon,’ he whispered.

‘Shush! The children will awaken,’ hissed Putli, putting a stop to his talk.

Freddy looked at the sky. The stars appeared to have receded. There were thin, opaque clouds hazing them. ‘I’m right,’ he thought. ‘It will rain soon …’

Simultaneously, he tried to recall how it felt to be nineteen. It suddenly appeared to be as far back as the stars.