‘—has a book to read?’ suggested Pran.
‘Yes,’ agreed Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘And Haresh and Lata can go into the garden.’ She told Hanif to put on the garden light.
16.22
It was not yet quite dark. The two walked around the small garden a couple of times, not knowing quite what to say. Most of the flowers had closed, but white stocks still perfumed one corner near the bench.
‘Shall we sit down?’ asked Haresh.
‘Yes. Why not?’
‘Well, it’s been such a long time since we met,’ said Haresh.
‘Don’t you count the Prahapore Club?’ said Lata.
‘Oh, that was for your family. You and I were hardly present.’
‘We were all very impressed,’ said Lata with a smile. Certainly, Haresh had been very much present, even if she hadn’t.
‘I hoped you would be,’ said Haresh. ‘But I’m not sure what your elder brother thinks of all this. Is he avoiding me? This morning he spent half the time looking around for a friend of his, and now he’s going out.’
‘Oh, he’s just being Arun. I’m sorry about the scene just now; that too is typical of him. But he’s quite affectionate sometimes. It’s just that one never knows when. You’ll get used to it.’
The last sentence had slipped out of its own accord. Lata was both puzzled at and displeased with herself. She did like Haresh, but she didn’t want to give him any false hopes. Quickly she added: ‘Like all his — his colleagues.’ But this made things worse; it sounded cruelly distancing and a bit illogical.
‘I hope I’m not going to become his colleague!’ said Haresh, smiling. He wanted to hold Lata’s hand, but sensed that — despite the scent of stocks and Mrs Rupa Mehra’s tacit approval of their tête-à-tête — this was not the moment. Haresh was a little bewildered. Had he been with Simran, he would have known what to talk about; in any case they would have been talking in a mixture of Hindi, Punjabi and English. But talking to Lata was different. He did not know what to say. It was much easier to write letters. After a while he said:
‘I’ve been reading one or two Hardys again.’ It was better than talking about his Goodyear Welted line or how much the Czechs drank on New Year’s Eve.
Lata said: ‘Don’t you find him a bit pessimistic?’ She too was attempting to make conversation. Perhaps they should have kept on writing to each other.
‘Well, I am an optimistic person — some people say too optimistic — so it’s a good thing for me to read something that is not so optimistic.’
‘That’s an interesting thought,’ said Lata.
Haresh was puzzled. Here they were, sitting on a garden bench in the cool of the evening with the blessing of her mother and his foster-father, and they could hardly piece together a conversation. The Mehras were a complicated family and nothing was what it seemed.
‘Well, do I have grounds to be optimistic?’ he asked with a smile. He had promised himself to get a clear answer quickly. Lata had said that writing was a good way to get to know each other, and he felt that their correspondence had revealed a great deal. He had perhaps detected a slight cooling off in her last two letters from Brahmpur, but she had promised to spend as much time as she could with him over the vacation. He could understand, however, that she might be nervous about an actual meeting, especially under the critical eye of her elder brother.
Lata said nothing for a while. Then, thinking in a flash over all the time she had spent with Haresh — which seemed to be no more than a succession of meals and train and factories — she said: ‘Haresh, I think we should meet and talk a little more before I make up my mind finally. It’s the most important decision of my life. I need to be completely sure.’
‘Well, I’m sure,’ said Haresh in a firm voice. ‘I’ve now seen you in five different places, and my feelings for you have grown with time. I am not very eloquent—’
‘It’s not that,’ said Lata, though she knew that it was at least partly that. What, after all, would they talk about for the rest of their lives?
‘Anyway, I’m sure I will improve with your instruction,’ said Haresh cheerfully.
‘What’s the fifth place?’ said Lata.
‘What fifth place?’
‘You said we’d met in five places. Prahapore, Calcutta now, Kanpur, very briefly in Lucknow when you helped us at the station. . What’s the fifth? It was only my mother you met in Delhi.’
‘Brahmpur.’
‘But—’
‘We didn’t meet exactly, but I was at the platform when you were getting on to the Calcutta train. Not this time — a few months ago. You were wearing a blue sari, and you had a very intense and serious expression on your face as if something had — well, a very intense and serious expression.’
‘Are you sure it was a blue sari?’ said Lata with a smile.
‘Yes,’ said Haresh, smiling back.
‘What were you doing there?’ asked Lata wonderingly; her mind was now already back on that platform and what she had been feeling.
‘Nothing. Just leaving for Cawnpore. And then, for a few days after we met properly, I kept thinking, “Where have I seen her before?” Like today at the Test match with that young fellow Durrani.’
Lata came out of her dream. ‘Durrani?’ she said.
‘Yes, but I didn’t have to wonder long. I discovered where I’d seen him within a few minutes of talking to him. That was in Brahmpur too. I’d taken Bhaskar to meet his father. Everything happens in Brahmpur!’
Lata was silent but looking at him with, he felt, great interest at last.
‘Good-looking fellow,’ continued Haresh, encouraged. ‘Very well informed about cricket. And on the university team. He’s leaving tomorrow for the Inter-’Varsity somewhere.’
‘At the cricket match?’ said Lata. ‘You met Kabir?’
‘Do you know him?’ asked Haresh, frowning a little.
‘Yes,’ said Lata, controlling her voice. ‘We acted in Twelfth Night together. How strange. What was he doing in Calcutta? How long has he been here?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Haresh. ‘For the cricket mainly, I suppose. But it seems a pity to have to leave after three days of a Test. Not that this one is likely to end in a win for either side. And he might have come on business too. He did say something about wanting to meet someone but being uncertain about his reception when he met him.’
‘Oh,’ said Lata. ‘Did he meet him eventually?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Anyway, what were we talking about? Yes, five towns. Brahmpur, Prahapore, Calcutta, Lucknow, Cawnpore.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t call it Cawnpore,’ said Lata with a touch of irritation.
‘What should I call it?’
‘Kanpur.’
‘All right. And if you wish I’ll call Calcutta Kolkota.’
Lata didn’t answer. The thought that Kabir was still in town, in Calcutta somewhere, but unreachable, and that he would be leaving the next day, made her eyes smart. Here she was, sitting on the same bench where she had read his letter — and with Haresh of all people. Certainly, if her meetings with Haresh were marked by meals, her meetings with Kabir were marked by benches. She felt like both laughing and crying.
‘Is something the matter?’ said Haresh, a little troubled.
‘No, let’s go in. It’s getting a little chilly. If Arun Bhai has left by now it shouldn’t be too difficult to get Varun to put on a few film songs. I feel in the mood for them.’
‘I thought you were more fond of classical music.’
‘I like everything,’ said Lata brightly, ‘but at different times. And Varun will offer you a drink.’