'A Sessions Judge, my dear,' interjected Mr Justice Chatterji.
'Yes, well, I don't see how he can possibly have the right to overturn the verdict of a jury. Is that justice? Twelve good men and true, don't they say? How dare he set himself up above them ?'
'Nine, dear. It's nine in Calcutta. As for their goodness and truth -'
'Yes, well. And to call the verdict perverse - isn't that what he said- ?'
'Perverse, unreasonable, manifestly wrong and against
542-the weight of the evidence,' recited the bald-headed Mr Kohli with a relish he usually reserved for his whisky. His small mouth was half open, a little like that of a meditative fish.
'Perverse, unreasonably wrong and so on, well, does he have a right to do that? It is so - so undemocratic somehow,' continued Mrs Chatterji, 'and, like it or not, we live in democratic times. And democracy is half our trouble. And that's why we have all these disorders and 1 all this bloodshed, and then we have jury trials - why we still have them in Calcutta when everyone else in India has got rid of them I really don't know - and someone bribes or intimidates the jury, and they bring in these impossible verdicts. If it weren't for courageous judges who set these verdicts aside, where would we be? Don't you agree, dear?' Mrs Chatterji sounded indignant.
Mr Justice Chatterji said, 'Yes, dear, of course. Well, there you are, Mr Kohli; now you know what I think. But your glass is empty.'
Mr Kohli, bewildered, said, 'Yes, I think I'll get another.' He looked quickly around to make sure the coast was clear.
'And please tell Tapan he should go to bed at once,' said Mrs Chatterji. 'Unless he hasn't eaten. If he hasn't eaten, he shouldn't go to bed at once. He should eat first.'
'Do you know, Meenakshi,' said Mr Justice Chatterji, 'that your mother and I were arguing with each other so convincingly one day last week that the next day by breakfast we had convinced ourselves of each other's points of view and argued just as fiercely as before ?'
'What were you arguing about ?' said Meenakshi. 'I miss our breakfast parliaments.'
'I can't remember,' said Mr Justice Chatterji. 'Can you ? Wasn't it something to do with Biswas Babu ?'
'It was something to do with Cuddles,' said Mrs Chatterji.
'Was it? I'm not sure it was. I thought it was - well,
543anyway, Meenakshi, you must come for breakfast one day soon. Sunny Park is almost within walking distance of the house.'
'I know,' said Meenakshi. 'But it's so difficult to get away in the morning. Arun is very particular about things being just so, and Aparna is always so taxing and tedious before eleven. Mago, your cook really saved my life yesterday. Now I think I'll go and say hello to Hans. And who's that young man who's glowering at Hans and Kakoli ? He's not even wearing a bow-tie.'
Indeed, the young man was virtually naked: dressed merely in a standard white shirt and white trousers with a regular striped tie. He was a college student.
'I don't know, dear,' said Mrs Chatterji.
'Another mushroom ?' asked Meenakshi.
Mr Justice Chatterji, who had first coined the phrase when Kakoli's friends started springing up in profusion, nodded. 'I'm sure he is,' he said.
Halfway across the room, Meenakshi bumped into Amit, and repeated the question.
'He introduced himself to me as Krishnan,' said Amit. 'Kakoli knows him very well, it seems.'
'Oh,' said Meenakshi. 'What does he do ?'
'I don't know. He's one of her close friends, he says.'
'One of her closest friends ?'
'Oh no,' said Amit. 'He couldn't be one of her closest friends. She knows the names of those.'
'Well, I'm going to meet Kuku's Kraut,' said Meenakshi with decision. 'Where's Luts? She was with you a few minutes ago.'
'I don't know. Somewhere there.' Amit pointed in the direction of the piano, to a dense and voluble section of the crowd. 'By the way, watch your hands when watching Hans.'
'Yes, I know,' said Meenakshi. 'Daddy warned me too. But it's a safe moment. He's eating. Surely he won't set down his plate to seize my hand ?'
'You can never tell,' said Amit darkly.
'Too delicious,' said Meenakshi.
5447.11
MEANWHILE Lata, who was in the thickest part of the party, felt as if she was swimming in a sea of language. She was quite amazed by the glitter and glory of it all. Sometimes a half-comprehensible English wave would rise, sometimes an incomprehensible Bengali one. Like magpies cackling over baubles - or discovering occasional gems and imagining them to be baubles - the excited guests chattered ! on. Despite the fact that they were shovelling in a great deal of food, everyone managed to shovel out a great many words.
'Oh, no, no, Dipankar … you don't understand - the fundamental construct of Indian civilization is the Square the four stages of life, the four purposes of life - love, wealth, duty, and final liberation - even the four arms of our ancient symbol, the swastika, so sadly abused of late … yes, it is the square and the square alone that is the fundamental construct of our spirituality … you will only understand this when you are an old lady like me '
'She keeps two cooks, that is the reason, no other. Truly - but you must try the luchis. No, no, you must have everything in the right order … that is the secret of Bengali food '
'Such a good speaker at the Ramakrishna Mission the other day ; quite a young man but so spiritual … Creativity in an Age of Crisis … you really must go next week : he will be talking about the Quest for Peace and Harmony '
'Everyone said that if I went down to the Sundarbans I'd see scores of tigers. I didn't even see a mosquito. Water, water everywhere - and nothing else at all. People are such dreadful liars.'
'They should be expelled - stiff exam or no stiff exam, is that a reason for snatching papers in the examination hall ? These are commerce students of Calcutta University, mind you. What will happen to the economic order without discipline ? If Sir Asutosh were alive today what would he say ? Is this what Independence means ?'
545'Montoo is looking so sweet. But Poltoo and Loltoo are looking a little under par. Ever since their father's illness, of course. They say it is - that it is, you know … well, liver … from too much drink.'
'Oh, no, no, no, Dipankar - the elemental paradigm - I would never have said construct - of our ancient civilization is of course the Trinity … I don't mean the Christian trinity, of course ; all that seems so crude somehow - but the Trinity as Process and Aspect - Creation and Preservation and Destruction - yes, the Trinity, that is the elemental paradigm of our civilization, and no other '
'Ridiculous nonsense, of course. So I called the union leaders in and I read them the riot act. Naturally it took a little straight talk for them to come into line again. Well, I won't say there wasn't a payment to one or two of the most recalcitrant of them, but all that is handled by Personnel.'
'That's not Je reviens - that's Quelque-fleurs - all the difference in the world. Not that my husband would know the difference. He can't even recognize Chanel!'
'Then I said to Robi Babu: “You are like a God to us, please give me a name for my child,” and he consented. That is the reason why she is called Hemangini Actually, the name was not to my liking, but what could I do ?'
'If the mullahs want war, they can have one. Our trade with East Pakistan has virtually come to a halt. Well, one happy side-effect is that the price of mangoes has come down! The Maldah growers had a huge crop this year, and they don't know what to do with them. … Of course it's a transport problem too, just like the Bengal Famine.'
'Oh, no, no, no, Dipankar, you haven't got it at all - the primeval texture of Indian philosophy is that of Duality …
yes, Duality The warp and weft of our ancient garment,
the sari itself - a single length of cloth which yet swathes our Indian womanhood - the warp and weft of the universe itself, the tension between Being and Non-being - yes, indubitably it is Duality alone that reigns over us here in our ancient land.'
546'I felt like crying when I read the poem. They must be so proud of him. So proud.'
'Hello, Arun, where's Meenakshi ?'
Lata turned around and saw Arun's rather displeased expression. It was his friend Billy Irani. This was the third time someone had spoken to him with the sole intention of finding out where his wife was. He looked around the room for her orange sari, and spied her near the Kakoli crowd.
'There she is, Billy, near Kuku's nest. If you want to meet her, I'll walk over with you and detach her,' he said.
Lata wondered for a second what her friend Malati would have made of all this. She attached herself to Arun as if to a life-raft, and floated across to where Kakoli was standing. Somehow or other Mrs Rupa Mehra, as well as an old Marwari gentleman clad in a dhoti, had infiltrated the crowd of bright young things.
The old gentleman, unconscious of the gilded youth surrounding him, was saying, rather fussily, to Hans :
'Ever since the year 1933 I have been drinking the juice of bitter gourds. You know bitter gourd ? It is our famous Indian vegetable, called karela. It looks like this' - he gesticulated elongatedly - 'and it is green, and ribbed.'
Hans looked mystified. His informant continued :
'Every week my servant takes a seer of bitter gourd, and from the skin only, mark you, he will make juice. Each seer will yield one jam jar of juice.' His eyes squinted in concentration. 'What they do with the rest I do not care.'
He made a dismissive gesture.
'Yes ?' said Hans politely. 'That makes me so interested.'
Kakoli had begun to giggle. Mrs Rupa Mehra was looking deeply interested. Arun caught Meenakshi's eye and frowned. Bloody Marwari, he was thinking. Trust them to make a fool of themselves in front of foreigners.
Sweetly oblivious of Arun's disapproval, the gourd-proponent continued :
'Then every morning for my breakfast he will give me one sherry glass or liqueur glass - so much - of this juice. Every day since 1933. And I have no sugar problems. I can
547eat sweetmeats without anxiety. My dermatology is also very good, and all bowel movements are very satisfactory.'
As if to prove the point he bit into a gulab-jamun which was dripping with syrup.
Mrs Rupa Mehra, fascinated, said: 'Only the skin?' If this was true, diabetes need no longer interpose itself between her palate and her desires.
'Yes,' said the man fastidiously. 'Only the skin, like I have said. The rest is a superfluity. Beauty of bitter gourd is only skin deep.'
7.12
'ENJOYING yourself?' Jock Mackay asked Basil Cox as they wandered out onto the verandah.
'Well, yes, rather,' said Basil Cox, resting his whisky precariously on the white cast-iron railing. He felt lightheaded, almost as if he wanted to balance on the railings himself. The fragrance of gardenias wafted across the lawn.
'First time I've seen you at the Chatterjis. Patricia's looking ravishing.'
'Thanks … she is, isn't she ? I can never predict when sb/t's “guvwi 1» tjT.nt IL -gCAvi ViTwt. tk yetti kwew, -«Wri \ Wd to come out to India, she was most unwilling. She even, well.
Basil, moving his thumb gently across his lower lip, looked out into the garden, where a few mellow golden globes lit up the underside of a huge laburnum tree covered with grape-like clusters of yellow flowers. There appeared to be a hut of sorts under the tree.
'But you're enjoying it here, are you ?'
'I suppose so Puzzling sort of place, though Of
course, I've been here less than a year.'
'What do you mean ?'
'Well, what's that bird for instance that was singing a moment ago - pu-puuuuuu-pu ! pu-puuuuu-pu ! higher and higher. It certainly isn't a cuckoo and I rather wish it was.*
Disconcerting. And I find all these lakhs and crores and annas and pice quite confusing still. I have to re-calculate things in my head. I suppose I'll get used to it all with time.' From the expression on Basil Cox's face it didn't look likely. Twelve pence to the shilling and twenty shillings to the pound was infinitely more logical than four pice to the anna and sixteen annas to the rupee.
'Well, it is a cuckoo, as a matter of fact,' said Jock Mackay, 'it's the hawk-cuckoo - or brainfever bird … didn't you know that ? It's hard to believe, but I've got so used to it that I miss it when I'm back home on leave. The song of the birds I don't mind at all, what I can't abide is the dreadful music Indian singers make … awful wailing stuff. … But do you know the question that disconcerted me most of all when I first came here twenty years ago and saw all these beautiful, elegantly dressed women ?' Jock Mackay cheerfully and confidingly jerked his head towards the drawing room. 'How do you fuck in a sari ?'
