‘Oh, he’s bound to be here,’ said Amit. ‘I can’t imagine him missing a day of a Test.’
‘We’re off to a rather slow start,’ said Dipankar. ‘I hope this isn’t going to be another awful draw like the last two Tests.’
‘I think we’re going to teach them a lesson.’ This was Haresh’s optimistic assessment.
‘We might,’ said Pran. ‘But we should be careful on this wicket. It’s a bowler’s delight.’
And so it proved to be.
The quick loss of three of the best Indian wickets — including that of the captain — cast a chill on the stadium. When Amarnath — who had hardly had time to pad up — came on to the field to face Tattersall, there was complete silence. Even the women spectators stopped their winter knitting for a second.
He was bowled for a duck in that same fatal over.
The Indian side was collapsing like skittles. If the mayhem continued, India might be all out before lunch. High visions of a victory turned to the dread of an ignominious follow-on.
‘Just like us,’ said Varun morosely. ‘We are a failure as a country. We can always snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory. I’m going to watch the racing in the afternoon,’ he added disgustedly. He would have to watch his horses through the palings around the course rather than sit in these forty-rupee season-ticket seats, but at least there was a chance that his horse might win.
‘I’m getting up to stretch my legs,’ said Amit.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Haresh, who was annoyed by the poor show that India was putting on. ‘Oh — who’s that man there — the one in the navy-blue blazer with the maroon scarf — do any of you know? I seem to recognize him from somewhere.’
Pran looked across at the pavilion section and was completely taken aback.
‘Oh, Malvolio!’ he said, as if he had seen Banquo instead.
‘What was that?’ said Haresh.
‘Nothing. I suddenly remembered something I have to teach next term. Cricket balls, my liege. Something just struck me. No, I–I can’t say for sure that I recognize him — I think you’d better ask the Calcutta people.’ Pran was not good at deception, but the last thing he wanted to encourage was a meeting between Haresh and Kabir. Any number of complications might ensue, including a visit by Kabir to Sunny Park.
Luckily, no one else recognized him.
‘I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere,’ Haresh persisted. ‘I’m bound to remember sometime. Good-looking fellow. You know, the same thing happened to me with Lata. I felt I’d seen her before — and — I’m sure I’m not mistaken. I’ll go and say hello.’
Pran could do nothing further. Amit and Haresh wandered over between overs, and Haresh said to Kabir: ‘Good morning. Haven’t we met somewhere before?’
Kabir looked at them and smiled. He stood up. ‘I don’t think we have,’ he said.
‘Perhaps at work — or in Cawnpore?’ said Haresh. ‘I have the feeling — well, anyway, I’m Haresh Khanna, from Praha.’
‘Glad to meet you, Sir.’ Kabir shook his hand and smiled. ‘Perhaps we’ve met in Brahmpur, that is if you come to Brahmpur on work.’
Haresh shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Are you from Brahmpur?’
‘Yes,’ said Kabir. ‘I’m a student at Brahmpur University. I’m keen on cricket, so I’ve come down for a while to watch what I can of the Test. A pretty miserable show.’
‘Well, it’s a dewy wicket,’ said Amit in mitigation.
‘Dewy wicket my foot,’ said Kabir with good-natured combativeness. ‘We are always making excuses for ourselves. Roy had no business to cut that ball. And Umrigar did the same. And for Hazare and Amarnath to be bowled neck and crop in the same over — it’s really too bad. They send over a team that doesn’t include Hutton or Bedser or Compton or Laker or May — and we manage to disgrace ourselves anyway. We’ve never had a Test victory against the MCC, and if we lose this one, we don’t ever deserve to win. I’m beginning to think it’s a good thing I’m leaving Calcutta tomorrow morning. Anyway, tomorrow’s a rest day.’
‘Why, where are you going?’ laughed Haresh, who liked the young man’s spirit. ‘Back to Brahmpur?’
‘No — I’ve got to go to Allahabad for the Inter-’Varsity.’
‘Are you on the university team?’
‘Yes.’ Kabir frowned. ‘But I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. My name’s Kabir. Kabir Durrani.’
‘Ah,’ said Haresh, his eyes disappearing. ‘You’re the son of Professor Durrani.’
Kabir looked at Haresh in amazement.
‘We met for just a minute,’ said Haresh. ‘I brought young Bhaskar Tandon over to your house one day to meet your father. In fact, now I come to think of it, you were wearing cricket clothes.’
Kabir said: ‘Good heavens. I think I do remember now. I’m terribly sorry. But won’t you sit down? These two chairs are free — my friends have gone off to get some coffee.’
Haresh introduced Amit, and they all sat down.
After the next over Kabir turned to Haresh and said: ‘I suppose you know what happened to Bhaskar at the Pul Mela?’
‘Yes, indeed. I’m glad to hear he’s all right now.’
‘If he had been here, we wouldn’t have needed that fancy Australian-style scoreboard.’
‘No,’ said Haresh with a smile. ‘Pran’s nephew,’ he said to Amit by way of incomplete explanation.
‘I do wish women wouldn’t bring their knitting to the match,’ said Kabir intolerantly. ‘Hazare out. Plain. Umrigar out. Purl. It’s like A Tale of Two Cities.’
Amit laughed at this pleasant young fellow’s analogy, but was forced to come to the defence of his own city. ‘Well, apart from our sections of the stadium, where people come to be seen as much as to see, Calcutta’s a good place for cricket,’ he said. ‘In the four-rupee seats the crowd knows its stuff all right. And they start queueing up for day tickets from nine o’clock the previous night.’
Kabir nodded. ‘Well, you’re right. And it’s a lovely stadium. The greenness of the field almost hurts the eyes.’
Haresh thought back for a moment to his mistake about colours, and wondered whether it had done him any harm.
The bowling changed over once again from the Maidan end to the High Court end.
‘Whenever I think of the High Court end I feel guilty,’ said Amit to Haresh. Making conversation with his rival was one way of sizing him up.
Haresh, who had no sense at all that he had any rival anywhere, answered innocently: ‘Why? Have you done anything against the law? Oh, I’m forgetting, your father’s a judge.’
‘And I’m a lawyer, that’s my problem. I should be working, according to him — writing opinions, not poems.’
Kabir half turned towards Amit in astonishment.
‘You’re not the Amit Chatterji?’
Amit had discovered that coyness made things worse once he was recognized. ‘Yes, indeed,’ he said. ‘The.’
‘Why — I’m — how amazing — I like your stuff — a lot of it — I can’t say I understand it all.’
‘No, nor do I.’
A sudden thought struck Kabir. ‘Why don’t you come to Brahmpur to read? You have a lot of fans there in the Brahmpur Literary Society. But I hear you never give readings.’
‘Well, not never,’ said Amit thoughtfully. ‘I don’t normally — but if I’m asked to come to Brahmpur, and can get leave of absence from my Muse, I might well come. I’ve often wondered what the town is like: the Barsaat Mahal, you know, and, of course, the Fort — and, well, other objects of beauty and interest. I’ve never been there before.’ He paused. ‘Well, would you care to join us there among the season-ticket holders? But I suppose these are better seats.’