One day he went to the Design Centre in order to make a few suggestions that would help streamline the design and production of the shoes under his supervision. He discussed his ideas with the Indian who was the number two in the department. Just then Mr Bratinka, who ran the Design Centre, came in and stared at him.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said without even an attempt at civility and as if Haresh was trying to pollute his flock with the virus of rebellion.
‘What do you mean, Mr Bratinka?’ asked Haresh.
‘Why are you here without permission?’
‘I don’t need permission to improve productivity.’
‘Get out.’
‘Mr Bratinka?’
‘GET OUT!’
Mr Bratinka’s assistant ventured to suggest that there was some merit in Mr Khanna’s suggestions.
‘Shut up,’ said Mr Bratinka.
Both Bratinka and Haresh were furious. Haresh filed a complaint in the open grievance book that Khandelwal had established for the redress of injuries. And Bratinka reported Haresh to his superiors.
The result was that Haresh was hauled up before the General Manager and a committee of four others: a regular Czech inquisition with all manner of odd allegations other than that he was in the Design Centre without permission.
‘Khanna,’ said Pavel Havel, ‘you have been talking to my driver.’
‘Yes, Sir, I have. He came to see me about a matter concerning his son’s education.’ Pavel Havel’s driver was a quiet-spoken, extremely polite man, always spotlessly dressed: Haresh would have said that he was, in every sense that mattered, a gentleman.
‘Why did he come to you?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps because he thought that as an Indian I might be sympathetic — or would at least understand the difficulties of a young man’s career.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ said Kurilla, whose Middlehampton comradeship with Haresh had helped him get his job in the first instance.
‘Just what I said. Perhaps he thought I could help him.’
‘And it was seen through your windows that he was sitting down.’
‘He was,’ said Haresh, annoyed. ‘He is a decent man, and a much older man than me. As he was standing, I asked him to sit down. He was uncomfortable, but I insisted that he should take a seat. And we discussed the matter. His son has temporary work in the factory on daily wages, and I suggested that in order to improve his prospects he should attend night classes. I lent him a few books. That is all there is to the incident.’
Novak said: ‘You think that India is Europe, Mr Khanna? That there is equality between managers and staff? That everyone is at the same level?’
‘Mr Novak, I should remind you that I am not a manager. Nor am I a communist, if that is what you are implying. Mr Havel, you know your driver. I am sure you think he is a trustworthy man. Ask him what happened.’
Pavel Havel was looking a little shamefaced, as if he had implied that Haresh was not trustworthy. And what he next said rather proved it.
‘Well, there have been rumours of your being the editor of the union newspaper.’
Haresh shook his head in amazement.
‘You say you are not?’ This was Novak.
‘I am not. I don’t even think I’m a union member — unless I have become one automatically.’
‘You have been inciting the union people to work behind our back.’
‘I have not. What do you mean?’
‘You visited their offices and held a meeting with them secretly. I did not know of it.’
‘It was an open meeting. There was nothing that was done secretly. I am an honest man, Mr Novak, and I do not like these aspersions.’
‘How dare you speak like this?’ exploded Kurilla. ‘How dare you do these things? We are the providers of employment to Indians, and if you do not like this job and the way we run things, you can leave the factory.’
At this, Haresh saw red and said in a trembling voice:
‘Mr Kurilla, you provide employment not only to Indians but also to yourselves. As for your second point, I may leave the factory, but I assure you that you will leave India before I do.’
Kurilla almost burst. That a chit of a junior should stand up to the mighty Czech Prahamen was something both incomprehensible and unprecedented. Pavel Havel calmed him down and said to Haresh: ‘I think this inquiry is over. We have covered all the points. I will talk to you later.’
A day later he called Haresh to his office and told him to continue as before. He added that he was pleased with his job, especially with respect to production. Perhaps, thought Haresh, he’s had a talk with his driver.
Amazingly enough, the Czechs, especially Kurilla, became fairly friendly towards Haresh after this incident. It had, in a way, cleared the air. Now that they believed he was not a communist or an agitator, they were neither panicky nor resentful. They were basically fair-minded men who believed in results, and his tripling of production, once it appeared in the official monthly figures, had the same sort of effect on them as the pair of Goodyear Welted shoes that Haresh had made — and which, as it happened, he had been facing throughout his inquisition in the General Manager’s office.
16.12
As Malati was walking out of the university library, en route to a meeting of the Socialist Party, one of her friends — a girl who studied singing at the Haridas College — got talking with her.
In the course of exchanging gossip, the friend mentioned that Kabir had been seen just a few days earlier at the Red Fox restaurant, in animated and intimate conversation with a girl. The girl who had seen them was entirely reliable, and had said—
But Malati cut her off. ‘I’m not interested!’ she exclaimed with surprising vehemence. ‘I don’t have the time to listen. I have to rush to a meeting.’ And she turned away, her eyes flashing.
She felt as if she had been personally insulted. Her friend’s information was always correct, so there was no point in doubting it. What infuriated Malati most of all was that Kabir must have met this girl at the Red Fox around the time that he was making his protestations of undying love in the Blue Danube. It was enough to put her into a Black Fury.
It confirmed everything she had ever thought about men.
O perfidy.
16.13
On the evening before their meeting, while Lata had been at Ballygunge, Haresh was making last-minute preparations at the Prahapore Officers’ Club to entertain his guests the next day. The whole place was festooned with coloured crêpe for the Christmas season.
‘So, Khushwant,’ said Haresh in Hindi, ‘there will be no problem if we are as much as half an hour late? They are coming from Calcutta and something might delay them.’
‘No problem at all, Mr Khanna. I have been running the club for five years, and have grown used to adjusting to other people’s schedules.’ Khushwant had risen from being a bearer to becoming a cook-cum-bearer to becoming the virtual manager of the club.
‘The vegetarian dishes will present no difficulty? I know that that is not usual at the club.’
‘Please rest assured.’
‘And the Christmas pudding with brandy sauce.’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Or do you think it should be apple strudel?’
‘No, the Christmas pudding is more special.’ Khushwant knew how to prepare a variety of Czech desserts as well as dishes.
‘No expense is to be spared.’
‘Mr Khanna, at eighteen rupees a head instead of seven, there is no need to mention such matters.’
‘It’s a pity the swimming pool has no water at this time of year.’