House for Mister Biswas Part 9

Hari, humming, didn't hear.

'I got a name for another one of your brother-in-laws,' he told Shama that evening, lying on his blanket, his right foot on his left knee, peeling off a broken nail from his big toe. 'The constipated holy man.'

'Hari?' she said, and pulled herself up, realizing that she had begun to take part in the game.

He slapped his yellow, flabby calf and pushed his finger into the flesh. The calf yielded like sponge.

She pulled his hand away. 'Don't do that. I can't bear to see you do that. You should be ashamed, a young man like you, being so soft.'

'That is all the bad food I eating in this place.' He was still holding her hand. 'Well, as a matter of fact, I have quite a few names for him. The holy ghost. You like that?'

'Man!'

'And what about the two G.o.ds? It ever strike you that they look like two monkeys? So, you have one concrete monkey-G.o.d outside the house and two living ones inside. They could just call this place the monkey house and finish. Eh, monkey, bull, cow, hen. The place is like a blasted zoo, man.'

'And what about you? The barking puppy dog?'

'Man's best friend.' He flung up his legs and his thin slack calves shook. With a push of his finger he kept the calves swinging.

'Stop doing that!'

By now Shama's head was on his soft arm, and they were lying side by side.

Abandoning the brothers-in-law altogether, Mr Biswas contented himself with the company of the Aryans at the Naths'. Pankaj Rai was no longer with them and no one was willing to talk about him. His place had been taken by a man who introduced himself as Shivlochan, BA (Professor). He was no purist. He spoke pompous Hindi and little English, and continually allowed himself to be bullied by Misir. Misir was keen on discussions and resolutions, and under his guidance they pa.s.sed resolutions that education was important, that child marriage should be abolished, that young people should choose their own spouses. (Professor). He was no purist. He spoke pompous Hindi and little English, and continually allowed himself to be bullied by Misir. Misir was keen on discussions and resolutions, and under his guidance they pa.s.sed resolutions that education was important, that child marriage should be abolished, that young people should choose their own spouses.

Misir, who had suffered from his parents' choice, said, 'The present system is nothing more than cat-in-bag.'

(Mr Biswas loved Misir's phrases. 'That is all your family do for you,' he said to Shama that evening. 'Marry off the whole pack of you cat-in-bag.'

'Don't think I don't know where you picking up all that,' Shama said. 'Go ahead.') 'Look what I got,' Misir said, 'from marrying cat-in-bag. What about you, Mohun? You happy about this cat-in-bag business?'

'As a matter of fact,' Mr Biswas said, 'I didn't get married cat-in-bag. I did see the girl first.'

'You mean they let you see the child first?' Whatever remained of Misir's orthodox instincts was clearly outraged.

'Well, she was just there, you know, in the shop, selling cloth and socks and ribbon. And I see her and then '

'All the old confusion, eh?'

'Well, not exactly. Things just happen after that.'

'I didn't know,' Misir said. 'Well, you ask for what you get. Anyway, I think we could say we are against this early cat-in-bag marriage business.'

'We could say that,' Mr Biswas said.

'Now, how are we going to put our ideas across to the ma.s.ses?' Misir said, and Mr Biswas noted that Misir's manner was growing more and more like Pankaj Rai's. 'I suggest persuasion.'

'Peaceful persuasion,' Shivlochan said.

'Peaceful persuasion. Start like Mohammed. Start small. Start with your own family. Start with your own wife. Then move on. I want everybody here to go home this evening determined to pa.s.s the word on to his neighbours. And I promise you, my friends, that in no time Arwacas will become a stronghold of Aryanism.'

'Just a moment,' Mr Biswas said. 'Not so fast. Start with your own family? You don't know my family. I think we better leave them out.'

'This is a h.e.l.luva man,' Misir said. 'You want to convert three hundred million Hindus and you let one backward little family of country bookies frighten you?'

'I telling you, man. You don't know my family.'

'All right,' Misir said, a little of his bounce gone. 'Now, supposing peaceful persuasion doesn't work. Just supposing. What do you suggest, my friends? By what means can we bring about the conversion we so earnestly desire?' The last two sentences had occurred in one of Pankaj Rai's speeches.

'By the sword,' Mr Biswas said. 'The only thing. Conversion by the sword.'

'That's how I feel too,' Misir said.

'Just a minute, gentlemen,' Shivlochan, BA BA (Professor), said, rising. 'You are rejecting the doctrine of non-violence. Do you realize that?' (Professor), said, rising. 'You are rejecting the doctrine of non-violence. Do you realize that?'

'Rejecting it just for a short time,' Misir said impatiently. 'Short short time.'

Shivlochan sat down.

'I think, then, that we could pa.s.s a resolution to the effect that peaceful persuasion should be followed by militant conversion. All right?'

'I think so,' Mr Biswas said.

'I think this would make a good little story,' Misir said. 'Going to telephone it in to the Sentinel Sentinel straight away.' straight away.'

On the country page of the Sentinel Sentinel the next day there was an item, two inches high, about the proceedings of the Arwacas Aryan a.s.sociation, the the next day there was an item, two inches high, about the proceedings of the Arwacas Aryan a.s.sociation, the AAA AAA, Mr Biswas's name was mentioned, as was his address.

He left an open and marked copy of the paper on the long table in the hall. And when that evening Shama came up as he was reading Reform the Only Way Reform the Only Way and said that Seth wanted to see him, Mr Biswas didn't argue. Whistling in his soundless way, he put on his trousers and ran down to face the family tribunal. and said that Seth wanted to see him, Mr Biswas didn't argue. Whistling in his soundless way, he put on his trousers and ran down to face the family tribunal.

'I see you have got your name in the papers,' Seth said.

Mr Biswas shrugged.

The G.o.ds swung slowly in the hammock, frowning.

'What are you trying to do? Disgrace the family? Here you have these boys trying to get on in the Catholic college. Do you believe this sort of thing is going to help them in any way?'

The G.o.ds looked injured.

'Jealous,' Mr Biswas said. 'Everybody just jealous.'

'What have you got for them to be jealous of?' Mrs Tulsi asked.

The elder G.o.d got up, in tears. 'I not going to remain sitting down in this hammock and have any-and-everybody in this house insulting me. Is your fault, Ma. Is your son-in-law. You just bring them in here to eat all the food my father money buy and then to insult your sons.'

It was a grave charge, and Mrs Tulsi held the boy to her and embraced him and wiped away his tears with her veil.

'It's all right, son,' Seth said. 'I am still here to look after you.' He turned to Mr Biswas. 'All right,' he said in English. 'You see what you cause. You want to get the family in trouble. You want to see them go to jail. They feeding you, but you want to see me and Mai go to jail. You want to see the two boys, who ain't got no father, go through life without a education. All that is all right. This house is like a republic already.'

Sisters and brothers-in-law froze into att.i.tudes of sullen penitence. Seth's gratuitous remark about the republic was a rebuke to them all; it meant that Mr Biswas's behaviour was bringing discredit upon the other brothers-in-law.

'So,' Seth went on. 'You want to see girl children educated and choosing their own husband, eh? The same sort of thing that your sister do.'

The sisters and their husbands relaxed.

Mr Biswas said, 'My sister better than anybody here, and better off too. And too besides, she living in a house a lot cleaner.'

Seth rested his elbow on the table and smoked sadly, looking down at his bluchers. 'The Black Age,' he said softly in Hindi. 'The Black Age has come at last. Sister, we have taken in a serpent. It is my fault. You must blame me.'

'I not asking to stay here, you know,' Mr Biswas said. 'I believe in the old ways too. You make me marry your daughter, you promise to do this and do that. So far I ain't got nothing. The day you give me what you promise me, I gone.'

'So you want girl children learning to read and write and picking up boy-friends? You want to see them wearing short frocks?'

'I ain't say a thing about short frocks. I talking about what you promise me.'

'Short frocks. And love letters. Love letters! Remember the love letter you write Shama?'

Shama giggled. The sisters and their husbands, more at ease now, giggled. Mrs Tulsi gave a short explosive laugh. Only the G.o.ds remained stern; but Mrs Tulsi, still embracing the elder G.o.d, coaxed a smile from him.

So the encounter was a defeat. But Mr Biswas, so far from being cast down, was exhilarated. He had no doubt now that in his campaign against the Tulsis for that was how he thought of it he was winning.

Unexpected support came through the Aryan a.s.sociation.

The a.s.sociation attracted the attention of Mrs Weir, the wife of the owner of a small sugar-estate. She didn't pay her labourers well but was respected by them for her interest in religion and the concern she showed for their spiritual welfare. Most of her labourers were Hindus and Mrs Weir was particularly interested in Hinduism. It was rumoured that her purpose was an eventual wholesale conversion of Hindus, but Misir denied this. He said he had practically converted her. her. She did indeed come to an Aryan meeting. And she invited some of the Aryans to tea. Mr Biswas, Misir, Shivlochan and two others went. Misir talked. Mrs Weir listened and never disagreed. Misir gave books and pamphlets. Mrs Weir said she looked forward to reading them. Just before they left, Mrs Weir presented everyone with copies of the She did indeed come to an Aryan meeting. And she invited some of the Aryans to tea. Mr Biswas, Misir, Shivlochan and two others went. Misir talked. Mrs Weir listened and never disagreed. Misir gave books and pamphlets. Mrs Weir said she looked forward to reading them. Just before they left, Mrs Weir presented everyone with copies of the Meditations Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, the of Marcus Aurelius, the Discourses Discourses of Epictetus, and a number of other booklets. of Epictetus, and a number of other booklets.

For days afterwards Hanuman House was subjected to the propaganda of a little-known Christian sect. Mrs Weir's booklets turned up on the long table, in the Tulsi Store, in the kitchen, in bedrooms. A religious picture was nailed on the inside of the latrine-door. When a booklet was found on the prayer-room shrine, Seth summoned Mr Biswas and said, 'The next thing will be for you to start teaching the children hymns. I can't understand how anyone could have even tried to turn you into a pundit.'

Mr Biswas said, 'Well, since I been in this house I begin to get the feeling that to be a good Hindu you must be a good Roman Catholic first.'

The elder G.o.d, seeing himself attacked, got up from the hammock, already prepared to cry.

'Look at him,' Mr Biswas said. 'Little Jack Horner. If he just put his hand in his shirt he pull up a crucifix.'

The elder G.o.d did wear a crucifix. It was regarded in the house as an exotic and desirable charm. The elder G.o.d wore many charms and it was thought fitting that someone so valuable should be well protected. On the Sunday before examination week he was bathed by Mrs Tulsi in water consecrated by Hari; the soles of his feet were soaked in lavender water; he was made to drink a gla.s.s of Guinness stout; and he left Hanuman House, a figure of awe, laden with crucifix, sacred thread and beads, a mysterious sachet, a number of curious armlets, consecrated coins, and a lime in each trouser pocket.

'You call yourself Hindus?' Mr Biswas said.

Shama tried to silence Mr Biswas.

The younger G.o.d got out of the hammock and stamped. 'I not going to remain in this hammock and hear my brother insulted, Ma. You You don't care.' don't care.'

'What?' said Mr Biswas. 'I insult somebody? At the Catholic college they make him close his eyes and open his mouth and say Hail Mary. What about that?'

'Man!' Shama said.

The elder G.o.d was crying.

The younger G.o.d said, 'You 'You don't care, Ma.' don't care, Ma.'

'Biswas!' Seth said. 'You want to feel my hand?'

Shama pulled at Mr Biswas's shirt and he struggled as though he were being pulled away from a physical fight which he was winning and wanted to continue. But he had noted Seth's threat and allowed himself to be pushed slowly up the stairs.

Halfway up they heard Seth calling for his wife. 'Padma! Come quickly and look after your sister. She is going to faint.'

Someone raced up the steps. It was Chinta. She ignored Mr Biswas and said accusingly to Shama, 'Mai faint.'

Shama looked hard at Mr Biswas.

'Faint, eh?' Mr Biswas said.

Chinta didn't say any more. She hurried on to the concrete house to prepare Mrs Tulsi's bedroom, the Rose Room.

As soon as Shama had seen Mr Biswas safely to their room she left him, and he heard her running across the Book Room and down the stairs.

Mrs Tulsi often fainted. Whenever this happened a complex ritual was at once set in motion. One daughter was despatched to get the Rose Room ready, and Mrs Tulsi was taken there by other daughters working under the direction of Padma, Seth's wife. If, as often happened, Padma was ill herself, Sushila took her place. Sushila's position in the family was unique. She was a widowed daughter whose only child had died. Because of her suffering she was respected, but though she gave herself the airs of authority her status was undefined, at times appearing as high as Mrs Tulsi's, at times lower than Miss Blackie's. It was only during Mrs Tulsi's illnesses that anyone could be sure of Sushila's power.

In the Rose Room, then, after a faint, one daughter fanned Mrs Tulsi; two ma.s.saged her smooth, shining and surprisingly firm legs; one soaked bay rum into her loosened hair and ma.s.saged her forehead. The other daughters stood by, ready to carry out the instructions of Padma or Sushila. The G.o.ds were often there as well, looking grimly on. When the ma.s.sage and the bay rum-soaking was over Mrs Tulsi turned on her stomach and asked the younger G.o.d to walk on her, from the soles of her feet to her shoulders. The elder G.o.d had done this duty in the past but had grown too heavy.

The sons-in-law found themselves alone in the wooden house with the children, who knew without being told that they had to be silent. All activity was suspended; the house became dead. One of the sons-in-law was invariably responsible for precipitating Mrs Tulsi's faint. He was now hounded by silence and hostility. If he attempted to make friendly talk many glances instantly reproved him for his frivolity. If he moped in a corner or went up to his room he was condemned for his callousness and ingrat.i.tude. He was expected to stay in the hall and show all the signs of contrition and unease. He waited for the sounds of footsteps coming from the Rose Room; he accosted a busy, offended sister and, ignoring snubs, made whispered inquiries about Mrs Tulsi's condition. Next morning he came down, shy and sheepish. Mrs Tulsi would be better. She would ignore him. But that evening forgiveness would be in the air. The offender would be spoken to as if nothing had happened, and he would respond with eagerness.

Mr Biswas didn't go to the hall. He remained on his blanket in the long room, doodling and thinking out subjects for the articles he had promised to write for the New Aryan, a magazine Misir was planning. He couldn't concentrate, and soon the paper was covered with repet.i.tions, in various styles, of the letters RES RES, a combination he had found challenging and beautiful ever since he had done a sign for a restaurant.

The room smelled of hartshorn.

'You happy, eh, now that you make Mai faint?'

It was Shama. Her hands were still oily.

'Which foot you rub?' Mr Biswas asked. 'You should be glad they allow you to touch a foot. You know, it does beat me why all you sisters so anxious to look after the old hen. She did look after you? She just pick you up and marry you off to any old coconut-seller and crab-catcher. And still everybody rushing up to rub foot and squeeze head and hand smelling-salts.'

'You know, n.o.body hearing you talk would believe that you come to this house with no more things than you could hang up on a one-inch nail.'

It was a familiar attack. He ignored it.

Next morning he went down to the hall and called briskly, 'Morning, morning. Morning, everybody.' He got no reply. He said, 'Shama, Shama. Food, girl. Food.' She brought him a tall cup of tea. Breakfast was tea and biscuits. The biscuits came in a vast drum, returnable to the biscuit makers: the largest economy size, the method of bulk-purchase used by cafe-owners. While he was diving into the drum, turning away straw, feeling for biscuits a pleasant task, for the straw and biscuits together had a smell that was good and even better than the meal while he was doing this, Mrs Tulsi came into the hall, fatigued and heavy, looking almost as old as Padma. Her veil was low over her forehead and every now and then she pressed a handkerchief soaked in eau-de-Cologne to her nose. Without her teeth she looked decrepit, but there was about her decrepitude a quality of ever-lastingness.

'You feeling better, Mai?' Mr Biswas asked, stacking some biscuits on a chipped enamel plate. He spoke very cheerfully. The hall was hushed.

'Yes, son,' Mrs Tulsi said. 'I am feeling better.'

And it was Mr Biswas's turn to be astonished.

('I was wrong about your mother,' he told Shama before he left that morning. 'She is not a old hen at all. Nor a old cow.'

'I glad you learning grat.i.tude,' Shama said.

'She is a she-fox. A old she-fox. What they call that? You know what I mean, man. You remember your Macdougall's Grammar. Macdougall's Grammar. Abbot, abbess. Stag, roe, Hart, hind. Fox, what?' Abbot, abbess. Stag, roe, Hart, hind. Fox, what?'