Don’t worry Ukil-babu, Khalil shouted, trying to soothe him. She’s already been this morning.
How do you know? he snapped. Has she told you? You can’t even speak English.
My grandmother was distraught now; she couldn’t bear to sit still any longer. She leapt to her feet and shouted: Jethamoshai, don’t you know who I am?
His face twisted into a peevish scowl as he turned slowly to look at her. Didn’t I tell you to sit down, woman? he snapped.
Obediently, my grandmother sat down again. Can’t you see? she moaned, wringing her hands. I’m your own brother’s daughter.
All right, then, woman, he said. Explain your case to me. What’s it all about?
Then Tridib stepped in. Now listen, he said very loudly. We’re your relatives; we’ve come to take you back. Do you remember your brother who lived in the other part of the house?
The old man’s face lit up. They died! he said, his voice quivering in triumph. They had two daughters: one with a face like a vulture, and another one who was as poisonous as a cobra but all pretty and goody-goody to look at.
Tridib began to laugh. Well, they’ve come back to rescue you now, he said.
They both went junketing off somewhere, the old man went on. And as soon as I could I went out into the streets and got hold of whoever I could and moved them in. Now I’m just waiting for them to come back.
He grinned, and Tridib flinched from the festering malevolence in his bare, black gums.
I’m just waiting for them to come back, he said, so that I can drag them through every court in the land up to the Viceroy’s Council. ‘Possession is nine-tenths of the law’ my cousin Brajen used to say, and he knew because he had taken his uncle’s family through every court in the kingdom because they had taken away a handful of soil from the land on his side of the canal and added it to theirs.
It’s true, Mayadebi said to Tridib. I remember him: he had to sell his land to pay his lawyers.
For one handful of soil! the old man marvelled, staring up at the ceiling. That’s the kind of flesh I’m made of. They’ll find out: just let them come back.
They have come back, my grandmother said gently. But not to fight you in court. We don’t want the house. We’ve come to take you home with us. It’s not safe for you here. There might be trouble any day now. You must move while you can.
Move? the old man said incredulously. Move to what?
It’s not safe for you here, my grandmother said urgently. I know these people look after you well, but it’s not the same thing. You don’t understand.
I understand very well, the old man muttered. I know everything, I understand everything. Once you start moving you never stop. That’s what I told my sons when they took the trains. I said: I don’t believe in this India-Shindia. It’s all very well, you’re going away now, but suppose when you get there they decide to draw another line somewhere? What will you do then? Where will you move to? No one will have you anywhere. As for me, I was born here, and I’ll die here.
At that my grandmother gave up. She sighed and got up to go. There’s no use talking to him any more, she said. We’ve done what we can. We’d better go now.
Then Saifuddin the mechanic, who had been listening carefully, went quickly across the room and said: It’s no use talking to him. He’s not responsible for what he says; it’s the same as being mad. You’ll have to think of some other way of taking him back.
Suddenly Khalil turned to my grandmother, appealing with open arms.
Don’t listen to him, he cried. He’s only saying this because he wants to put in a claim for the whole house and he can’t do it while the old man is still living here. You can’t take him away; he won’t go. Besides, he’s like a grandfather to my children now — what will they do without him?
The mechanic wrenched him around and pushed him back against the wall.
He’s lying, he said. It’s got nothing to do with claiming the house. You can see Khalil is simple-minded; he doesn’t understand anything. I’m telling you to take him away for his sake. He’s made a lot of enemies over the years. The last time there was trouble we had a hard time protecting him. Who knows what’ll happen the next time?
You can’t take him away, cried Khalil. He’ll die.
Then a female voice broke in; it was Khalil’s wife, half hidden by the curtain.
Take him with you, she said. Khalil doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t have to cook for him and feed him. We have two other children too. How long can we go on like this? Where will the money come from?
And while they were sitting there, frozen into a tableau of indecision, the driver of their car came running up to the door.
Please come quickly, madam, he shouted. We have to leave — there’s going to be trouble outside.
He turned on his heel and disappeared.
My grandmother made up her mind.
Listen, Khalil, she said. What we’ll do is this: we’ll take him back now and keep him with us for a few days, until the trouble’s over. Then if he wants to return, we’ll bring him back. What about that?
Khalil’s head was hanging down in defeat now. All right, he said sullenly. But he won’t go in your car. I’ll have to bring him in my rickshaw. I’ll tell him he’s got to go to court — otherwise he won’t leave the house. I’ll follow your car.
The mechanic laughed scornfully. How can you follow their car? he said. Have you seen it? It’s a Mercedes.
Don’t worry, Khalil said, glaring at him. I’ll manage: if they go a little slowly.
Then he went up to the old man and said something into his ear. The old man turned his head away and shook his hands wildly in the air. But Khalil argued with him for a while and at last he nodded and stretched out his arms. Khalil took a black cotton coat off a peg and helped him into it. Then, reaching under the bed, he pulled out a pair of shoes, put them on his feet and tied the laces.
All right, said the old man. I’m ready to go now.
Khalil handed him his walking-stick, put an arm around his shoulders, and helped him climb off the bed.
Go on ahead, he said to my grandmother. Get into your car.
They left the room with Khalil and the old man following behind. When they reached the yard Tridib helped Khalil lift the old man into the rickshaw.
The mechanic walked with them as far as the gate.
You’re doing the right thing, he said to Mayadebi and my grandmother. It’s the only thing you could have done.
Ignoring him, they turned to take a last look at the house: at the balconies and terraces, rising in steps out of the ground; at the garden where they had once spent their evenings making up stories about their uncle’s part of the house.
Then they stepped through the gate and set off down the lane.
The children were waiting for them and followed them down the lane, laughing and chattering amongst themselves. The little girl who had befriended May appeared again and took hold of her hand. Some of them ran along with the rickshaw, talking to Khalil, and trying to jump up on the handlebars.
The driver was waving to them frantically from the car. He and the security guard threw the doors open and hurried them in.
Quickly now, madam, the driver said, biting his lip. Quickly now.
Robi had expected to see a crowd waiting for them, but the road was empty, deserted, and all the shops were shut.
There’s no trouble here, he said to the driver. What were you so worried about?
Just wait a little, the driver said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Just a few minutes, Robi-master.
He started the car and they set off slowly down the empty road with the rickshaw following close behind.
It was Robi who saw them first, immediately after they turned the first corner, the corner my grandmother remembered so well, where the boys used to play football on a patch of grass.