He looked up again, rather wearily, at the sword-bearing portrait on the wall before continuing: ‘But I am keen that a decent, a suitable man wins from here. Apart from the Hindu Mahasabha and that lot, there is someone here whom I have been good to and who hates me as a result. He plans to try to get the local Congress ticket, and if he becomes the local MLA, he can do me all kinds of harm. I have already decided to nominate a candidate of my own who will fight as an Independent in case this man does get the Congress nomination. But if you stand — whether from this KMPP or from the Congress, or as an Independent — I will make sure that you get my support. And that of my candidate.’
‘He must be a very compliant candidate,’ said Mahesh Kapoor, smiling. ‘Or a self-abnegating one. A rare thing in politics.’
‘You met him briefly when we got down from the jeep,’ said the Nawab Sahib. ‘It’s that fellow Waris.’
‘Waris!’ Mahesh Kapoor laughed out loud. ‘That servant of yours, that groom or whatever, the unshaven chap who went off hunting with Firoz and my son?’
‘Yes,’ said the Nawab Sahib.
‘What kind of MLA do you think he would make?’
‘Better than the one he’d displace.’
‘You mean, better a fool than a knave.’
‘Better a yokel, certainly.’
‘You’re not serious about Waris.’
‘Don’t underestimate him,’ said the Nawab Sahib. ‘He may be a bit crude, but he’s capable and he’s tough. He sees things in black and white, which is a great help when you’re electioneering. He would enjoy campaigning, whether for himself or for you. He’s popular around these parts. Women think he’s dashing. He’s absolutely loyal to me and the family, especially to Firoz. He would do anything for us. I really mean that — he keeps threatening to shoot people who have done us harm.’ Mahesh Kapoor looked a little alarmed. ‘Incidentally, he likes Maan; he took him around the estate when he was here. And the only reason he’s unshaven is because he doesn’t shave from the sighting of the new moon till Bakr-Id, ten days later. Not that he’s all that religious,’ added the Nawab Sahib, with a mixture of disapproval and indulgence. ‘But if he doesn’t have to shave for one reason or another, he feels that he may as well take advantage of the dispensation.’
‘Hmm,’ said Mahesh Kapoor.
‘Think about it.’
‘I will. I will think about it. But where I stand from is only one of three questions in my mind.’
‘What are the other two?’
‘Well — which party?’
‘Congress,’ said the Nawab Sahib, naming without hesitation the party which had done so much to dispossess him.
‘Do you think so?’ said Mahesh Kapoor. ‘Do you think so?’
The Nawab Sahib nodded, looked at the debris on his plate, then rose. ‘And your third question?’
‘Whether I should continue in politics at all.’
The Nawab Sahib looked at his old friend in disbelief. ‘It’s something you ate this morning,’ he said. ‘Or else a piece of wax in my ear.’
14.18
Waris, meanwhile, was having a fine time away from his standard duties in the Fort and the officious eye of the munshi. He galloped happily along; and although he took with him the gun that he had obtained a licence for, he did not use it, since the hunt was not his prerogative. Maan and Firoz enjoyed the ride as much as the hunting; and there was enough game for them to spot or follow even though they did not actively seek it out. The part of the estate through which they rode was a mixture of firm woodland, rocky soil, and what in this season was sporadic marsh. Early in the afternoon, Maan saw a herd of nilgai splashing through the edge of the marsh at a distance. He aimed, fired, missed, and cursed himself good-naturedly. Later, Firoz got a large spotted deer with magnificent antlers. Waris noted the spot, and when they passed a small hamlet not far away he told one of the local men to get it to the Fort on a cart by the evening.
Apart from deer and wild boar, which they spied only occasionally, there were a great number of monkeys, especially langurs, and a great variety of birds, including peacocks, scattered throughout the forest. They even saw a peacock dancing. Maan was transported with pleasure.
It was a warm day, but there was plenty of shade, and from time to time they rested. Waris noticed how delighted the two young men were in each other’s company, and he joined in their banter whenever he felt like it. He had liked Maan from the first, and Firoz’s friendship with him cemented his liking.
As for the two young masters, having been cooped up in Brahmpur for a while, they were happy to be out in the open. They were sitting in the shade of a large banyan tree and talking.
‘Have you ever eaten peacock?’ Waris asked Maan.
‘No,’ said Maan.
‘It’s excellent meat,’ said Waris.
‘Come on, Waris, the Nawab Sahib doesn’t like people shooting peacocks on the estate,’ said Firoz.
‘No, no, by no means,’ said Waris. ‘But if you shoot one of them by mistake, you may as well eat the bastard. No point in leaving him to the jackals.’
‘By mistake!’ said Firoz.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Waris, making an effort at invention or recall. ‘Once there was a sudden rustling in the bushes when I was sitting under a tree — just as we are sitting now, and I thought it was a wild boar — so I shot at it, and it was only a peacock. Poor thing. Delicious.’
Firoz frowned. Maan laughed.
‘Shall I tell you the next time I do that?’ asked Waris. ‘You’ll like it, Chhoté Sahib, let me tell you. My wife is an excellent cook.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Firoz, who had several times eaten junglefowl cooked by her.
‘Chhoté Sahib always believes in doing the right thing,’ said Waris. ‘That’s why he is a lawyer.’
‘I thought that was a disqualification,’ said Maan.
‘Soon, if they make him a judge, he will get the zamindari decisions reversed,’ asserted Waris.
There was a sudden movement in the bushes not thirty feet away. A large wild boar, its tusks lowered, came charging in their direction, aiming either towards them or past them. Without thinking, Maan lifted his rifle and — hardly taking conscious aim — fired at it when it was just a dozen feet away.
The boar collapsed in its tracks. The three of them got to their feet — at first in fear — and then, standing around it at a safe distance, heard its grunts and squeals and watched it thrash about for a minute or so, while its blood soaked the leaves and mud around it.
‘My God—’ said Firoz, staring at the beast’s huge tusks.
‘Not a fucking peacock,’ was Waris’s comment.
Maan did a little dance. He was looking a little dazed and very pleased with himself.
‘Well, what will we do with it?’ said Firoz.
‘Eat it, of course,’ said Maan.
‘Don’t be an idiot — we can’t eat it. We’ll give it to — well, someone or other. Waris can tell us which of the servants won’t object to eating it.’
They loaded the boar on to Waris’s horse. By the time it was evening they were all tired. Maan was resting his rifle in the saddle, holding the reins in his left hand and practising polo strokes with his right. They had come within a few hundred yards of the mango orchard, and were looking forward to a rest before the evening meal. The deer would have preceded them; perhaps it was being prepared at this very moment. It was almost sunset. From the mosque at the Fort they could hear the sound of the evening azaan in the muezzin’s fine voice. Firoz, who had been whistling, stopped.