The Householder (2 page)

Prem knew how shy Sohan Lal felt while eating, so he did not go to sit near him, though he enjoyed his company more than that of any of the other professors. Instead he sat by Mr. Chaddha, whose company he did not enjoy at all. Indeed, Mr. Chaddha took no notice of him, but sat there in an armchair in the middle of the room with his legs crossed, swinging one little foot and reading a book; when he came to an interesting point in his reading, he exclaimed ‘Ha!' and made a bold pencil-mark in the margin.

The Principal's private residence took up the first floor of the house. Prem stood hesitating outside the sitting-room door, but he made himself be brave and entered. Mr. Khanna was sitting eating his breakfast. ‘Yes, come in!' he called. ‘Don't be shy!' But Prem was shy; he hovered by the door and kept his eyes lowered. Mr. Khanna was in a jovial mood. ‘You see me enjoying my breakfast,' he explained. Prem looked up and nodded. He saw that Mr. Khanna was having an English breakfast of eggs and toast.

‘It is very important to start the day with a good breakfast,' Mr. Khanna said. Prem nodded again. He could not speak, he was so overwhelmed with shyness. Not only because of what he had come to say, but also because the Principal's sitting-room always made him feel shy. Everything was new and opulent and comfortable—plump cushions and flowered curtains and a big shiny radio-set; and Mr. Khanna himself so cheerful and self-confident, wearing a nicely laundered shirt and mopping up his egg with a piece of toast.

‘You see,' explained Mr. Khanna, ‘the gastric juices must be allowed to flow from early morning, otherwise they will become clogged and nasty indigestions follow.'

Quite unreasonably, Prem thought of Sohan Lal eating his first humble meal perched on a little bench in the staffroom. And this thought made him say quite the wrong thing: ‘Please sir,' he said, ‘Mr. Sohan Lal lives in Mehrauli.'

‘I know it,' said the Principal. He finished chewing a bite of toast and added ‘It is a long way'; there was even a note of sympathy in his voice which encouraged Prem to think he had started on a good line.

‘A very long way, sir,' he said. He took a step forward and earnestly looked at the Principal. ‘He has to leave his house at six o'clock in the morning, without any food.'

Mr. Khanna nodded, again with sympathy. He shook some salt from a container and said, ‘You should always take plenty of salt with your food. It quickens the energies.'

‘Sir,' said Prem, ‘Mr. Sohan Lal has a large family to support.'

‘A spoonful of salt taken in a glass of warm water is also very good for replacing liquid strength lost through too much perspiration. You see, in our climate we must take great care of the body.'

‘He has not only his mother, his wife and his own children, but also his brother's family to take care of. His brother died four years ago of fever.'

‘In our climate there are many different kinds of fever we have to guard against.'

‘It is very difficult for him to manage on his present salary,' Prem said. ‘How can he support so many people on 175 rupees a month?' He took another step forward and said in a voice passionate with conviction and pity, ‘Poverty and want are terrible things. In the Panchatantra it is written “It is better to be dead than poor”.'

Mr. Khanna said, ‘It is an interesting thought.'

‘It is also a very sad thought, sir,' Prem said.

‘Ah yes,' said Mr. Khanna with a sigh. He left a moment's respectful silence, then said in a matter-of-fact business tone, ‘He has sent you to ask for a rise in salary?'

‘Oh no,' Prem said at once; he was shocked when he realized how he had laid himself open to being misunderstood. He knew that, in order to retrieve the situation, he ought to say at once it is for myself I am asking; but before he could get up the courage to say it, Mrs. Khanna entered and asked, ‘You want more toast?'

Prem immediately brought his hands together in deferential greeting, but she only gave him a sideways and impatient look. She did not care for members of her husband's staff to come into her living-room, and always made this clear when any of them did. She was a short plump woman who wore, even in the house, a lot of gold ornaments and brightly flowered clothes. She looked as opulent and upholstered as her sitting-room, and consequently inspired Prem with the same feeling of shyness.

‘You can give me another cup of tea,' Mr. Khanna told her.

‘Sir,' Prem found himself saying in a croaking voice, ‘Mr. Sohan Lal is so poor that he cannot even afford to give Mrs. Khanna her two rupees eight annas a month for tea.' He saw the look of astonishment on both Mr. and Mrs. Khanna's faces; Mrs. Khanna was staring at him with round eyes, holding the plump teapot with the English cottage on it poised in the air. Prem was astonished himself; he did not know why he was saying so much about Sohan Lal.

Mrs. Khanna turned to her husband and said, ‘What is he saying?'

‘Pour the tea,' he told her.

‘Perhaps he is suggesting I make a profit on the money I have to charge for their tea?' Prem was startled by her hostile, even threatening tone. He hung his head and twisted his hands behind his back. He was very much tempted to answer her: they had worked it out long ago and knew that she made a handsome profit on their tea. But if he told her so, she would be very angry with him, and Mr. Khanna too would be angry.

‘Finest Darjeeling tea I serve to them!' she shouted. ‘At what loss to myself every month God only knows!'

Prem looked down at the rug on which he was standing and counted the number of petals to each flower. Why seven, he thought; which flower has seven petals?

‘Like a servant I wait on them,' she said; her gold earrings were shaking with indignation.

‘It is all right,' Mr. Khanna said. ‘Go now.'

‘In what other college,' she demanded from outside the door, ‘does the Principal's wife make a slave of herself for her husband's employees?'

After she had gone, there was a short silence between Prem and Mr. Khanna, during which they heard her shouting with the same indignation and probably on the same topic in some other room. Mr. Khanna said, ‘If Mr. Sohan Lal wishes to speak with me, perhaps it would be better for him to come himself.'

‘No, sir,' Prem said, ‘Mr. Sohan Lal does not wish to speak with you.' But then he realized that perhaps this was not true; perhaps Sohan Lal did wish to speak to the Principal about something, who knew? Prem felt that the situation was getting rather complicated and that meanwhile he was getting farther and farther away from asking what he had come to ask. He decided to leave aside Sohan Lal and speak out boldly. ‘Sir,' he began.

‘I think your students must be waiting for you in class,' Mr. Khanna said; he finished his tea, wiped his mouth and stood up. Mrs. Khanna could still be heard shouting.

‘Sir,' said Prem, ‘you are yourself a father.'

‘It is ten-fifteen.'

‘So much?' Prem cried. His students would be waiting. They would be sitting in class making a noise and perhaps Mr. Chaddha would pass remarks at them which might disgrace Prem. He begged permission to leave and hurried away. Half-way down the stairs it struck him that he had not asked after all. He hesitated, wondering for a moment whether to go back. But he could not keep his students waiting any longer.

Afterwards he felt very unhappy. He had failed, after all his good resolutions. And what was there so difficult about asking for a rise in salary? It was a very natural thing—everybody, at some time in their life, needed a rise in salary. He should have asked straight out, stood up as a responsible citizen, as a husband and a father, demanding his rights and the rights of his family … instead of talking about tea and Sohan Lal. When he thought about Sohan Lal, he felt more unhappy still. Perhaps he had even damaged his friend's position; the Principal seemed actually to think that it was Sohan Lal who wanted a rise in salary.

Later, when he saw Sohan Lal in the staffroom, Prem at once had a guilty feeling. He went up to him and said, ‘Today I did a very strange thing.'

Sohan Lal smiled. He had an enchanting smile: his teeth were very large and protruding and when he smiled he showed them all, giving an impression of great heartiness.

Prem smiled back at him and said, ‘Yes, it was very strange.…' It seemed quite easy to tell Sohan Lal everything. About Mr. Khanna and the rise in salary and the baby and everything. Sohan Lal was bending down to fit his cycle-clips round his trousers. Classes were finished and they were all about to go home. ‘May I walk with you a little way?' Prem said.

‘You see,' he said, walking beside Sohan Lal who was pushing his cycle along the road, ‘I went to speak with the Principal today.' The students were going home too, some walking along the pavement four and five abreast, others jauntily pushing off on shiny new motor-scooters. Some of them called ‘Good night, sir!' to Prem and Sohan Lal, in reply to which Sohan Lal waved his hand at them, in a rather embarrassed manner, for like Prem he too was not very good at dealing with the students.

‘Things are difficult for me,' Prem said. ‘My salary is small—you see, I am married and I pay a rent of 45 rupees and my wife is pregnant.' He shot a quick side glance at Sohan Lal: this was the first time he had told anyone, face to face like this, about Indu being pregnant.

Sohan Lal was, as Prem had expected him to be, understanding. He said at once ‘You wanted to ask about a rise in salary?'

‘What can you do with 175 rupees a month, when your rent alone is 45 rupees?'

‘What did he say?'

‘It is strange,' Prem said. ‘He did not understand.' He shot Sohan Lal another side glance. ‘He thought it was you who wanted a rise in salary.'

‘I?' Sohan Lal stood still in the road, holding his cycle, and looked at Prem.

‘Yes; I told you it was strange.' Both stood and laughed. Students passed them and looked at them in surprise.

‘But of course—he is right,' Sohan Lal said. ‘I want a rise in salary.'

Prem said, ‘I told him you are yourself a father, sir; like that I told him.'

‘I pay only 15 rupees rent.'

‘Of course, in Mehrauli …' Prem said. ‘It is a very nice place,' he added quickly. ‘Only a little far.'

‘It is very far,' Sohan Lal said. ‘But where else could I get a place for my whole family for only 15 rupees?'

Prem sighed and said, ‘When once one becomes the father of a family, one has to make many sacrifices.'

Sohan Lal smiled in rapturous agreement: this was evidently a subject on which, if he chose, he could speak a lot. But all he said was ‘When is your wife expecting?'

‘I think in another six months,' Prem said. ‘Before that I must have an increase in salary or perhaps find another job. It is very difficult,' he sighed.

‘You are still young,' Sohan Lal said. ‘Who knows perhaps you will win great success in life——'

‘I have only a second-class B.A.'

‘Who knows,' Sohan Lal said with a sweet smile. He put one foot on the pedal of his cycle, but before he went, he said unexpectedly, ‘Perhaps one day you will come to my house.'

Prem was touched. He very much wanted Sohan Lal to be his friend. He had not yet made any new friends in Delhi and he had not been asked to anyone's house.

He had really only one friend in Delhi. This was Raj, who had gone to college with him in Ankhpur and now had a job in the Ministry of Food. Ever since Prem had come to Delhi, four months ago, they had made a point of meeting on Monday evenings.

Formerly Prem had looked forward all the week to these Monday meetings. He had been so happy to have someone he knew well to talk to: he had confided all his thoughts to Raj, had recalled the old days at Ankhpur, speculated on the whereabouts and possible destinies of old friends who had gone their various ways. But he had begun to notice that Raj did not seem to be enjoying these meetings as much as he himself did. He often looked at his watch and, Prem noticed, did not always listen very attentively. And once, while Prem was talking about an old college friend of theirs, he had said with almost a yawn in his voice, ‘What is the use of remembering these people? They have gone their way and we have gone ours.' The only two things Raj seemed to be interested in now were his job and his family.

They always met in the same place, by the box-office of the Regal Cinema. Not that they ever went into the cinema together, but it was the only place they could think of. Prem was usually the first to arrive. He stood by the little glass window which said Booking Closed and watched the other people standing around in the foyer. These were mostly young men in coloured bush-shirts, who looked about them with lazy eyes while drinking coca-cola or eating potato chips in plastic bags bought from the refreshment bar. When a girl came into the foyer, they straightened themselves and nudged one another and made remarks at which they laughed loudly. The girls always pretended not to notice. Except for the fact that the cinema was larger and there were more people about and everything was smarter and more city-like, it was not much different from what it had been like in Ankhpur: just so had Prem and Raj and their friends stood about in the cinema, eaten potato chips and looked at girls.

But when he saw Raj come into the foyer, Prem realized that now that time was finished for them. Beside these youths in coloured shirts, Raj looked staid and settled and married; he had a preoccupied frown on his face and his shoulders were a little hunched. It was evident that he would never again stand about in cinema foyers and look at girls.

And indeed the first thing he said was, ‘This is not a good place to meet. All these boys standing about.… Loafers,' he said with distaste. They went out together. Prem walked beside his friend in silence, looking away from him for he felt sad that Raj should already have forgotten what was no longer than two years ago.