‘I am not sure I understand.’
After a pause Biswas Babu went on. He seemed a little embarrassed, but the consciousness of his duty as an adviser to the family kept him going.
‘Of course it is dangerous business but any lady who cohabits with more than one man increases risks. It is but natural,’ he added.
Amit did not know what to say, as he had not got Biswas Babu’s drift.
‘Indeed, any lady who has the opportunity to go to second man will know no limits,’ Biswas Babu remarked gravely, even sadly, as if admonishing Amit in a muted way.
‘In fact,’ he ruminated, ‘though not admitted in our Hindu society, lady is more excited than man as a rule, I will have to say. That is why there should not be too much difference. So that lady can cool down with man.’
Amit looked startled.
‘I mean,’ continued Biswas Babu, ‘difference in age of course. That way they are commenstruate. Otherwise of course an older man is cool in later years when his wife is in the prime of lusty life and there is scope for mischief.’
‘Mischief,’ echoed Amit. Biswas Babu had never talked in this vein to him before.
‘Of course,’ thought Biswas Babu aloud, glancing in a melancholy way at the rows of law-books around him, ‘that is not true in all cases. But you must not leave it till you are more than thirty. Do you have headache?’ he asked, concerned, for Amit looked as if he was in pain.
‘A slight headache,’ said Amit. ‘Nothing serious.’
‘An arranged marriage with a sober girl, that is the solution. And I will also think about a helpmeet for Dipankar.’
They were both quiet for a minute. Amit broke the silence.
‘Nowadays people say that you should choose your own life partner, Biswas Babu. Certainly, poets like myself say that.’
‘What people think, what people say, and what people do are two different things,’ said Biswas Babu. ‘Now I and Mrs Biswas are happily married for thirty-four years. Where is the harm in an arrangement like that? Nobody asked me. One day my father said it is fixed.’
‘But if I find someone myself—’
Biswas Babu was willing to compromise. ‘Good. But then there should be inquiries also. She should be a sober girl from—’
‘—from a good family?’ prompted Amit.
‘From a good family.’
‘Well educated?’
‘Well educated. Saraswati gives better blessings in long run than Lakshmi.’
‘Well, now I have heard the whole case, I will reserve judgement.’
‘Do not reserve it too long, Amit Babu,’ said Biswas Babu with an anxious, almost paternal, smile. ‘Sooner or later you will have to cut Gordon’s knot.’
‘And tie it?’
‘Tie it?’
‘Tie the knot, I mean,’ said Amit.
‘Surely you must then also tie the knot,’ said Biswas Babu.
7.19
Later that evening, in the same room, Mr Justice Chatterji, who was wearing a dhoti-kurta rather than his black tie of the previous evening, said to his two elder sons:
‘Well, Amit — Dipankar — I’ve called you here because I have something to say to both of you. I’ve decided to speak to you alone, because your mother gets emotional about things, and that doesn’t really help. It’s about financial matters, our family investments and property and so on. I’ve continued to handle these affairs so far, for more than thirty years in fact, but it puts a heavy burden on me in addition to all my other work, and the time has come for one or the other of you to take over the running of that side of things. . Now wait, wait’—Mr Justice Chatterji held up a hand—‘let me finish, then both of you will have the chance to speak. The one thing I will not change is my decision to hand things over. My burden of work — and this is true of all my brother judges — has increased very considerably over the last year, and, well, I am not getting any younger. At first I was simply going to tell you, Amit, to manage things. You are the eldest and it is, strictly speaking, your duty. But your mother and I have discussed the whole issue at length, and we have taken your literary interests into account, and we now agree that it does not have to be you. You have studied law — whether or not you are practising it — and Dipankar, you have a degree in economics. There are no better qualifications for managing the family properties — now, wait a second, Dipankar, I have not finished — and both of you are intelligent. So what we have decided is this. If you, Dipankar, put your degree in economics to some use instead of concentrating on the — well, the spiritual side of things, well and good. If not, I am afraid, Amit, that the job will fall to you.’
‘But, Baba—’ protested Dipankar, blinking in distress, ‘economics is the worst possible qualification for running anything. It’s the most useless, impractical subject in the world.’
‘Dipankar,’ said his father, not very pleased, ‘you have studied it for several years now, and you must have learned something — certainly more than I did as a student — about how economic affairs are handled. Even without your training I have — in earlier days with Biswas Babu’s help, and now largely without it — somehow managed to deal with our affairs. Even if, as you claim, a degree in economics doesn’t help, I do not believe it can actually be a hindrance. And it is new to my ears to hear you claim that impractical things are useless.’
Dipankar said nothing. Nor did Amit.
‘Well, Amit?’ asked Mr Justice Chatterji.
‘What should I say, Baba?’ said Amit. ‘I don’t want you to have to keep on doing this work. I suppose I hadn’t realized quite how time-consuming it must be. But, well, my literary interests aren’t just interests, they are my vocation — my obsession, almost. If it was a question of my own share of the property, I would just sell it all, put the money in a bank, and live off the interest — or, if that wasn’t enough, I’d let it run down while I kept working at my novels and my poems. But, well, that isn’t the case. We can’t jeopardize everyone’s future — Tapan’s, Kuku’s, Ma’s, to some extent Meenakshi’s as well. I suppose I’m glad that there’s at least the possibility that I might not have to do it — that is, if Dipankar—’
‘Why don’t we both do a bit, Dada?’ asked Dipankar, turning towards Amit.
Their father shook his head. ‘That would only cause confusion and difficulties within the family. One or the other.’
Both of them looked subdued. Mr Justice Chatterji turned to Dipankar and continued: ‘Now I know that you have your heart set on going to the Pul Mela, and, for all I know, after you have submerged yourself in the Ganga a few times, it might help you decide things one way or another. At any rate, I am willing to wait for a few more months, say, till the end of this year, for you to mull over matters and make up your mind. My view of it is that you should get a job in a firm — in a bank, preferably; then all of this would probably fall comfortably into the kind of work you’ll be doing anyway. But, as Amit will tell you, my views of things are not always sound — and, whether sound or not, are not always acceptable. But, well, if you don’t agree, then, Amit, it will have to be you. Your novel will take at least another year or two to complete, and I cannot wait that long. You will have to work on your literary activities on the side.’
Neither brother looked at the other.
‘Do you think I am being unjust?’ asked Mr Justice Chatterji in Bengali, with a smile.
‘No, of course not, Baba,’ said Amit, trying to smile, but only succeeding in looking deeply troubled.
7.20
Arun Mehra arrived at his office in Dalhousie Square not long after 9.30. The sky was black with clouds and the rain was coming down in sheets. The rain swept across the vast facade of the Writers’ Building, and added its direct contribution to the huge tank in the middle of the square.