When Lady Baby came to earth, her home was filled with joy and mirth. There’s not a jewel of half the worth of Lady Baby-to-Caress. We’re glad that Lady Baby’s here, for at this sunless time of year, there’s nought that brings such warmth and cheer as Lady Baby’s daintiness.
Hush! Lady Baby’s fast asleep, the friendly fire-flames dance and leap and angel’s wings above her sweep as on her eyes a kiss they press. ‘A Lady Baby!’ Lovely phrase, it means she’ll have such gentle ways, and grow to goodness all her days — may God this Lady Baby bless!
13.19
Sir David Gower, the Managing Director of the Cromarty Group, looked through his gold-edged, half-moon spectacles at the short but confident young man standing in front of him. He had shown no sign of intimidation, which, in Sir David’s experience, was unusual, given the vastness and plushness of his office, the great distance from the door to the desk which he had had to walk under scrutiny, and his own intimidating bulk and glower.
‘Do sit down,’ he said eventually.
Haresh sat down in the middle chair of the three facing Sir David across his desk.
‘I’ve read Peary Loll Buller’s note, and he has had the kindness to call me up as well. I didn’t expect you quite so soon, but, well, here you are. You say you want a job. What are your qualifications? And where have you been working?’
‘Just across the road, Sir David.’
‘You mean at CLFC?’
‘Yes. And before that I was at Middlehampton — that’s where I studied footwear technology.’
‘And why do you want to work with us?’
‘I see James Hawley as an excellently run organization, in which a man like myself has a future.’
‘In other words, you want to join us to better your own prospects?’
‘Put like that, yes.’
‘Well, that’s no bad thing,’ said Sir David in a sort of growl.
He looked at Haresh for a while. Haresh wondered what he was thinking. His glance did not appear to take in his clothing — slightly sweaty for having bicycled over — or his hair, just smoothed and combed back. Nor did it appear to look into his soul. It appeared to concentrate on his forehead.
‘And what do you have to offer us?’ said the Managing Director after a while.
‘Sir, my results in England speak for themselves. And I have, in a short space of time, helped turn around CLFC — in terms both of orders and a sense of direction.’
Sir David raised his eyebrows. ‘That is quite a claim,’ he said. ‘I thought Mukherji was the General Manager. Well, I think you should see John Clayton, our own General Manager.’ He picked up the telephone.
‘John, ah, you’re still here. Good. I’m sending a young man, a Mr’—he glanced down at a piece of paper—‘a Mr Khanna, to you. . Yes, the one old Peary Loll Buller phoned me about a few minutes ago when you were here. . Middlehampton. . Well, yes, if you think so. . No, I leave it to you.’ He put down the phone, and wished Haresh good luck.
‘Thank you very much, Sir David.’
‘Well, whether we take you on or not depends on what Clayton thinks of you,’ said Sir David Gower, and dismissed Haresh from his thoughts.
A letter arrived on Monday morning from James Hawley. It was signed by the General Manager John Clayton, and specified the terms they wished to offer Haresh, which were generous: Rs 325 as salary, and Rs 450 as ‘dearness allowance’—an adjustment for inflation over the last few years. That the tail was bigger than the dog struck Haresh as odd but pleasant.
The injustice with which he had been treated by CLFC receded, the crawliness of Rao, the creepiness of Sen Gupta, the decent ineffectuality of Mukherji, the high-handedness of the distant boss Ghosh — and he began to think of his new future, which struck him as glowing. Perhaps some day he would sit on the other side of that huge mahogany desk. And with a job as good as this one, one that was not a cul-de-sac like his job at CLFC, he could embark on married life without any qualms.
Two letters in hand, he went to see Mukherji.
‘Mr Mukherji,’ he said, once they were both seated, ‘I feel I should take you into confidence. I have applied for a job with James Hawley, and they have made me an offer. After last week’s events you can imagine how I feel about continuing here. I would like your advice on what I should do.’
‘Mr Khanna,’ said Mr Mukherji quite unhappily, ‘I am sorry to hear this. I assume that you must have applied some time ago.’
‘I applied on Friday afternoon, and got the job within the hour.’
Mr Mukherji looked startled. If Haresh said so, however, it must be the truth.
‘Here is the letter of appointment.’
The General Manager scanned it, and said, ‘I see. Well, you have asked me for my advice. I can only say that I am sorry about the way that that order was taken out of your hands last week. It was not my doing. But I cannot accept your resignation myself — certainly not immediately. The matter will have to go to Bombay.’
‘I am sure Mr Ghosh will agree.’
‘I am sure he will,’ agreed Mr Mukherji, who was his brother-in-law. ‘But, well, it has to have his sanction before I can accept it.’
‘At any rate,’ said Haresh. ‘I am tendering my resignation to you now.’
But when Mr Mukherji phoned him to tell him that Haresh was leaving, Mr Ghosh was livid. Haresh was important for the success of his Kanpur factory, and he was not willing to let him go. He was due to go to Delhi to procure a government order for army footwear, and he told Mr Mukherji to hold on to Haresh Khanna until he himself came to Kanpur immediately afterwards.
Upon his arrival he summoned Haresh and tore into him in the presence of Mukherji. His eyes were bulging, and he seemed almost berserk with anger, although he was far from incoherent.
‘I gave you your very first job, Mr Khanna, when you arrived in India. And, if you recall, you gave me your assurance at the time that you would stay with us for two years, as long as we wanted you. Well, we do. Looking for another job is an underhand action on your part, and I refuse to let you go.’
Haresh coloured at Ghosh’s words and manner. A word like ‘underhand’ was like a red rag to him. But Ghosh was an older man, and one whose business sense at least he admired. Besides, it was true that he had given him his first job. ‘I do recall that conversation, Sir,’ he said. ‘But you might remember that you gave me certain assurances as well. You said, for one thing, that I should accept three hundred and fifty rupees at the time, because you would increase it once I had proved my worth to the organization. Well, I have certainly proved my worth to you, but you have not kept your side of the understanding.’
‘If it is a question of money, there is no problem,’ said Ghosh abruptly. ‘We can accommodate you — we can match their offer.’
This was news to Haresh — and to Mukherji as well, who looked startled — but the word ‘underhand’ so rankled against him that he continued: ‘I am afraid it is not merely money, Sir, it is the whole style of things.’ He paused, then went on: ‘James Hawley is a professional organization. I can make my way up that ladder in a way that I cannot in a family organization. I am hoping to get married, and I am sure you will see that I have to look to the future.’
‘You are not leaving us,’ said Ghosh. ‘That is all I have to say.’
‘We shall see about that,’ said Haresh, very angry himself by Ghosh’s high-handedness. ‘I have a written offer, and you have my written resignation. I fail to see what you can do about it.’ And he stood up, nodded wordlessly to his two superiors, and left.