The Householder (12 page)

Prem was wearing his best shirt and trousers, and he felt proud as they walked together to the college. For a time they did not speak. Indu was concentrating on her walking, which was a little difficult for her owing to her unaccustomed high platform soles. Prem too was rather self-conscious and walked in a slow and stately way. They were very obviously two people dressed up in their best clothes and going somewhere special.

After a while Indu said, ‘What shall I do if someone speaks to me there?'

‘Of course you must answer very politely and also in such a way that people can see that you are educated.'

Indu kept silent. Prem glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she was looking worried: she was biting her lip and frowning. He realized she was thinking how difficult it would be to answer in such a way. He also began to worry and hoped that she would show herself to her best advantage.

It was strange to see the college downstairs so empty. ‘This is my classroom,' he whispered to her as they passed, but she hardly turned her head. She was biting her lip quite hard. Upstairs in Mr. Khanna's living-room members of the staff and their wives, all dressed up in their best, were already seated in a pre-arranged circle of chairs. Mr. Khanna was standing in the centre; he was talking, and there was a polite titter of laughter in response. When he saw Prem and Indu, he called in a hearty cheery voice: ‘Yes, come in, come in!' Even Mrs. Khanna smiled a welcome at them. Everyone's attention was drawn to the new arrivals, chairs were shifted to accommodate them and Mr. Khanna said in a loud hospitable tone, ‘Please be quite comfortable!' Indu kept her eyes lowered and her face looked quite swollen with embarrassment. Prem kept saying ‘Thank you.'

‘As I was saying,' said Mr. Khanna; he took up his position in the centre again and replaced his thumb in his armpit. ‘It is very pleasant to have the ladies with us. Very agreeable.' The ladies all stared straight in front of them, without any change of expression. Only Mrs. Khanna said, ‘I think the tea-water is nearly boiling.'

Mr. Chaddha said, ‘The society of ladies is said to have a very softening effect.' He was wearing a cream-coloured silk suit which seemed to have been washed quite a number of times, and he sat with his arms and his little bird legs crossed in an attitude of ease suitable to a tea-party.

‘It is not for nothing,' suggested Mr. Khanna, ‘that they are known as the gentle sex.' Led by Mr. Chaddha, the gentlemen politely laughed. ‘It is good sometimes to break off in the midst of toil,' Mr. Khanna continued, ‘and enjoy an hour's leisure and ease in their charming company.'

‘As our heroes of old,' said Mr. Chaddha, ‘withdrew for respite from their battles to have their wounds dressed and their brows soothed by the hands of their consorts.' He seemed pleased by this remark; he cleared his throat and crossed his legs the other way. The other teachers looked at the Principal, and when they saw him smile in appreciation, they too smiled in appreciation.

The ladies remained unmoved. They were all seated together in one half of the circle of chairs, while their husbands were segregated in the other half. They held themselves stiff and looked very much aware both of the clothes they were wearing, which were all shining and new, and of the opulent surroundings in which they found themselves—the armchairs, the flowered cushions and curtains, the bright paper flowers in silver vases, the coloured parchment lampshades with long tassels. Only Mrs. Khanna was at ease, in clothes more gorgeous than anyone else's—wide silk pyjama trousers with a sky-blue shimmering shirt over them patterned all over with vast sprays of lilac on red stems; from time to time she gave a proprietory pat to a cushion or straightened a silver-framed photograph of Mr. Khanna at an academic function.

‘Relaxation is necessary to the human mind as well as to the human body,' said Mr. Khanna. ‘It is like a cool shower-bath we take on a hot day.' Prem gave a polite laugh, but as no one else laughed, he realized that the remark had not been humorous. He brushed imaginary specks of dust from his knee. ‘Refreshed and revived,' said the Principal, ‘we then resume our everyday duties with new vigour. I think we are all ready now for the tasty dishes which Mrs. Khanna has prepared.'

Mrs. Khanna ceremoniously handed to each guest a quarter-plate of flowered English crockery. Everyone sat and held it and patiently waited. In due course dishes of fritters, samusas and sweetmeats were circulated. The ladies were at first so shy that they simply passed them on, without taking anything, so that even when the dishes had gone full circle, the ladies still sat there holding their empty crockery plates. ‘Come come,' Mr. Khanna humorously rallied them, ‘our ladies must show a better appetite.' So then they slipped something on to their plates as the dishes passed them, but hastily and furtively as if they wished neither to see nor to be seen. There was silence while all the guests stared into space and chewed as delicately as they could. Only Mr. and Mrs. Khanna ate with a really hearty appetite.

When everyone had eaten the correct amount sanctioned by good breeding, the servant went round and collected the empty plates. Soon only Mr. and Mrs. Khanna were left with plates. Prem wiped crumbs from his lips with his handkerchief and glanced vaguely round the circle of chairs. He did not want to look at Indu too directly, not so that anyone would notice, but he did just want to see whether everything was all right and she was behaving with the requisite decorum. When, however, his eyes finally reached her, he saw that she still had her plate; and not only did she still have her plate, but she also had rather more sweetmeats on it than was quite correct; and these sweetmeats she was eating with the same concentration and relish she had shown that day sitting on her bed when he had brought some for her in an earthenware pot. He looked away again hastily. He felt very uneasy.

‘Well,' said Mr. Chaddha, planting his hands on his knees and shifting forward on his chair. Everyone looked at him. ‘Well,' said Mr. Chaddha, ‘I think we all enjoyed that very much.'

There was a murmur of assent. ‘Excellent,' said one; ‘a very good tea,' said another.

‘We owe a profound debt of gratitude to our host and hostess,' Mr. Chaddha said.

Prem's eyes stole round to Indu again. She had thrust her head forward to take bites out of a sweetmeat which she held between forefinger and thumb in a rather predatory manner.

‘Not only for the sumptuous fare they so generously provided,' Mr. Chaddha said, ‘but also for giving us the opportunity to have this pleasant social gathering.' Again there was polite assent. Mr. and Mrs. Khanna put aside their plates and arranged themselves in attentively listening attitudes.

‘Such gatherings,' said Mr. Chaddha, ‘are conducive to goodwill and good fellowship among the members of staff of Khanna Private College.'

Indu was busily licking her fingers. Only one sweetmeat was left on her plate. The servant came to collect the dishes, but before he could remove them, Indu had quickly taken two more large sweetmeats. Prem's gaze roved frantically round the circle. Everyone seemed to be looking at Mr. Chaddha.

‘Though daily we toil side by side,' said Mr. Chaddha, ‘yet to develop a proper sense of comradeship we need sometimes to share our moments of ease and leisure too.'

It was evident to Prem that Indu was by this time quite lost to her surroundings. She was continually biting, chewing, licking her fingers or flicking crumbs from her lips with her tongue. She seemed in a trance of enjoyment. He did not blame her, for he had heard that pregnant women had strange and uncontrollable desires. But he was terrified that others, who did not know of this extenuating circumstance, would notice.

‘For it is indeed imperative,' said Mr. Chaddha, now leaning back, folding his hands over his stomach and looking up at the ceiling, ‘that a sense of comradeship should be fostered among us.'

If only he could give her some sign. But she was sitting too far away and was too engrossed to look up and meet his eye. Nor could he transmit a message through anyone else. His only possible ally there was Sohan Lal, and Sohan Lal, he saw, was following Mr. Chaddha's words with close attention; he had his hands clasped on his knee, his head to one side and a somewhat strained look on his face. He looked very different from the way he had done when they had gone to see the swami.

‘Asense of comradeship, moreover,' said Mr. Chaddha, ‘that will survive and triumph over any buffets of fortune that it might be our fate to encounter.'

‘Very well said!' Mr. Khanna interposed. Others murmured in echo. Prem was afraid it might be noticed he was not paying close attention, so he called rather more loudly than anyone else, ‘Bravo!' and even clapped his hands. But when people looked at him, he stopped clapping.

‘The true value of human intercourse,' said Mr. Chaddha, ‘lies in the sense of loyalty that is fostered.'

‘True,' said Mr. Khanna, sagely nodding his head.

The servant came back to clear the remainder of the tea-things away. Mrs. Khanna beckoned to him and pointed out some crumbs that had fallen on to the carpet. Prem sat forward in his seat and twisted his hands in anxiety. The servant bent down to pick the crumbs, one by one, from the carpet, while Mrs. Khanna watched him sternly. Indu ate and ate. ‘And not only loyalty,' Mr. Chaddha said, beating both fists in the air for emphasis, ‘but also reverence, courage and conviction!'

Prem glanced again around the circle. The ladies all sat with their hands in their laps, staring in front of them with solemn faces. Their husbands were eagerly craning forward to listen to Mr. Chaddha. The servant had now reached the place where Indu was sitting. Here there were many more crumbs than anywhere else. Mrs. Khanna frowned and her eyes travelled upward to Indu, who was just pushing the remnant of a crumbly ladoo into her mouth. Prem watched and could do nothing. Indu looked up, straight into Mrs. Khanna's disapproving face. The two fingers with which she was pushing in the ladoo remained poised against her lips. Mrs. Khanna pointed at Indu and said to the servant in a whisper which everyone could hear, ‘There is one plate left over there.'

Mr. Chaddha modulated his voice to one of softness and affection. ‘What more beautiful feeling can there be than that of friendship?' he asked and held out a rhetorically appealing hand. The other lecturers breathed a long-drawn ‘Ah' in appreciation. Prem's ‘Ah' came a little later; all his feelings were with Indu, but he did not want to be left out of anything. He leant forward in his chair and pretended to be intent on Mr. Chaddha. Yet he thought more about how he would like to explain the situation to Mrs. Khanna, so that she would not think Indu had never been to a tea-party before and did not know how to behave in society. He wanted to make her understand that Indu's odd behaviour was due not to lack of breeding but to natural causes.

Mrs. Khanna said,' It is seven o'clock already.' Everybody stood up. The tea-party was over, but Prem did not want it to be over. There still remained so much to do. He wished desperately to make some contribution to the conversation, to distinguish himself and show everyone that he was an intelligent and deep-thinking young man. But the guests were already leaving, filing past Mr. Khanna who stood at the door with his hands folded in an attitude of gracious hospitality. Prem wanted to call out ‘Stop!' and then as everybody turned round to look at him, begin to address them with something so poignant and striking that even those who had already gone down the stairs would be called back again. But he did not have the courage to call out, and besides, he could not really think of anything poignant and striking to say.

Though next morning he could think of plenty. How he wished then that he had had the courage to get up and make a speech, like Mr. Chaddha! While he was shaving he outlined this speech which he should have made and even watched himself in the mirror making it. He spoke with a mixture of courteous flattery and touching sentiment. But it was too late. This sense of having missed an opportunity not likely to occur again greatly depressed him. Life, he thought, offers us so few chances to prove our worth. It was bitter to reflect that he had passed one by.

He spoke to Sohan Lal about his sense of failure. He said, ‘It is difficult for a young man to show off his best qualities before his superiors.'

Sohan Lal did not enter on the subject with enthusiasm. It was evident that he had himself given up any ambition he may ever have had to shine, and consequently did not share Prem's sense of dissatisfaction at the silent and undistinguished role they had both played at the tea-party. Prem did not know whether to blame or admire him for his lack of ambition. On the one hand, of course, lack of ambition was a very good thing, meaning renunciation of the things of this world and the concentration of the spirit on exalted matters; but on the other hand, a man must—as Prem's father had taught him—strive and strive and strive again to reach a high and worthy position in life. Sohan Lal, it was evident, had given up hope and perhaps even desire for such position; yet his was not a true renunciation. Prem remembered the expression of anxious deference his face had worn at the tea-party and, in contrast, his gaiety and carefree abandon when they had gone to see the swami. Why, if he had truly renounced, should he be anxious to please Mr. Khanna?

And here Prem came up against an inconsistency in his own attitude as well. When he remembered the swami—the happy young men, the flower garlands, the songs of praise—and the sense of exhilaration and even of release which he himself had experienced there, then his eagerness to show himself in a good light before Mr. and Mrs. Khanna in order to get an increase in salary, or to secure and improve his position in the college, or whatever it was he wanted from them—all that seemed futile and meaningless. But, though he realized it to be so, nevertheless his mind always tilted back again to these things. It was as if he had been turned into the light only of his own free will to swivel back to darkness.