I Shall Not Hear The Nightingale (23 page)

B
uta Singh had learnt not to rely too much on his memory. He did not make notes on the subjects he had to discuss, but usually numbered them and had symbols which fixed them in his mind. If it was only one thing he had to bring up, it didn’t need much memorizing — and of course he thought of God, because there was only one God. Two didn’t offer much difficulty either; it was ‘just two things I had to ask you,’ as one said even if there were more things to ask. There was no symbol for two. For three, there was the Trinity of Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver, and Shiva the Destroyer. Four was always causing trouble, but the mere fact that it caused trouble was good enough to remind him that he must have had four points to discuss. For five there were the ‘Five Beloved Ones’ — the first batch of converts to the Sikh faith made by the last Guru. And beyond five it was too much to expect symbols to remind him of what they were; they had to be put down in his notebook.

Buta Singh went over the ‘Five Beloved Ones’ one by one. First in importance was to thank Taylor for the honour done him in the New Year’s Honours list; he had given up hope of it altogether after his son’s arrest. Two, was to thank Mrs Taylor — if he saw her — or tell Mr Taylor to convey to his wife his thanks for all the kindnesses shown to the family over the terrible months they had gone
through. Third, was the business of his son, which he had not understood clearly. If his son had revealed the truth — as he must have for Buta Singh to get his title — why had there been no other arrests? And why had he been released in such a dramatic manner? He had not asked his son because that was not the sort of thing one talked about — particularly when the son was being made so much of for his heroic stand against police torture. Taylor might drop a hint as to what had really happened. Fourth in order of importance was Sher Singh’s future. Couldn’t Taylor help him to get a job in the Government of India and save the boy from the vagaries of a political life? He was bound to know people in Delhi and an Englishman’s recommendation was so much more effective than any Indian’s. Indian VIPs were always recommending people for jobs in the strongest terms and therefore no one took them seriously. A mildly worded letter from a junior English official could do miracles. That was four. Five! What was the fifth? Oh yes, the memorial to Sabhrai. He couldn’t afford very much, but he would donate Rs 4,000 to 5,000 and perhaps Mr Taylor could suggest a charity and later on open or inaugurate it. Sabhrai had been such a good wife. Illiterate, but with some sort of charm that attracted sophisticated Europeans like Mrs Taylor. The thought brought tears to Buta Singh’s eyes. He adjusted his black tie — he had bought one especially for his first call on the Deputy Commissioner after Sabhrai’s death — and left the house going rapidly over The Five Beloved Ones.’

Taylor was friendlier than ever before. He came out
into the verandah to receive Buta Singh and took him inside. There was his wife, too, with the appropriate expression on her face. ‘I was so sorry to hear about the Sardarini; I really was. I couldn’t have felt the loss of any relation of my own more keenly. She had that something about her which makes people think of their own mothers. She reminded me of mine.’

‘Thank you; very kind of you, madam. What God wills happens.’ This was the fifth subject on the list; she was upsetting the order. How could one switch from that to being honoured in the New Year’s list! ‘Madam and madam’s husband have been most kind to me and my family. I cannot find words to express my heartfelt gratitude.’

Joyce Taylor made a one word comment: ‘Rubbish.’ Her husband softened it. ‘Not at all, Buta Singh. The last few months must have been somewhat trying for you all.’

Trying! These British with their understatements! It was like going through hell. Buta Singh answered in the same tone, ‘Yes, sir, very trying.’ Joyce Taylor went out to order tea. Buta Singh got the chance to tick off the first of the ‘Five Beloved.’

‘Sir, I must thank you again for my title. It is a great honour.’

‘I am glad it came through, Buta Singh. You have done so much for the war effort. I was not sure if the people at the top would appreciate it. I was afraid somebody might distort this business of your son’s and hold it against you. People are apt to be like that.’

‘For that I have to thank my late wife, sir. She was the one to give good counsel to my son. I was too angry
and disappointed at his disloyal behaviour. He had washed out the loyal services of four generations. I was relieved that in the end he redeemed it.’

Taylor looked a little puzzled. The expression on the Indian’s face convinced Taylor that Buta Singh did not know what had passed between his wife and son in the lock-up. Taylor decided not to tell him. ‘Your wife must have been a great influence on the family,’ he remarked.

‘She was old-fashioned and would not learn English,’ answered Buta Singh. ‘You know, sir, I got her many teachers, but she absolutely failed to learn the language. She was a very religious woman — she prayed all the time.’ This was again number five. His son came before her. ‘She was very keen that Sher Singh should give up politics and take up a steady job. If he could be fixed up somewhere in the government of India, I would be very happy.’

Taylor knew what the other was driving at. ‘Sure, Buta Singh, I shall be only too pleased to help. Not that I count for much in the government of India.’

‘How can you say that, sir? One word from you and everything will be done.’ Buta Singh was happy. He would bring up the subject again when he had found out what to apply for and to whom.

Mrs Taylor came in carrying the tea-tray. She poured out the tea and handed Buta Singh his cup. Buta Singh took a noisy sip and put away the tea. Now for the fifth. He pulled a long face to preface the subject. ‘Mrs Taylor, I want to seek your very kind advice on an important matter. I wish to erect a memorial for my late wife — a small library or a ward in a hospital or
some such thing. I would be most grateful if you could advise me.’

‘How thoughtful of you, Sardar Sahib! I will be delighted to help. Since she was so religious perhaps she would have liked to have given something to a religious institution — like a temple. I believe having wells dug is also a very popular form of charity in this part of the world. You must have known her mind?’

‘You are right; she was very religious.’ Buta Singh pondered. He couldn’t possibly get Mr or Mrs Taylor to do anything with the building of a new gurudwara or having a well dug in some village. The object of the charity would be lost. ‘You see she was illiterate,’ he repeated, ‘if I had asked her, she would have said, “Anything you like.” That is why I ask you.’

‘If you like I can find out what is needed in the city; we are short of practically everything. I will certainly let you know.’

Buta Singh was very pleased. He had succeeded in drawing Mrs Taylor into his plans. Now he needed no appointments to come here nor would he have to sit with other magistrates in the verandah waiting his turn to see Taylor. The ‘Five Beloved Ones’ had been satisfactorily dealt with. He finished his tea and put aside his cup. ‘I must not waste your precious time,’ he said, getting up. ‘I will come and pay my respects again to you, Mrs Taylor. Goodbye, sir.’

‘Goodbye, Sardar Sahib. It is so nice to see you cheerful after such a long time.’

‘Thank you, madam. As a famous English poet has said, “All’s well that ends well.” ’

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First published in the US by Grove Press Inc., USA 1959

This edition published by Ravi Dayal Publisher 1997

Published in Viking by Ravi Dayal Publisher and Penguin Books India 2004

Published in Penguin Books 2005

Copyright © Khushwant Singh 1959

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-01-4400-084-5

This digital edition published in 2013.
e-ISBN: 978-93-5118-171-2

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