Read Online Delhi by Khushwant Singh - Free Book Online Page B

wish. Let me prepare myself.’ She picked up her handbag and hurried into the bathroom. I repaired to the bedroom and switched on the air-conditioner. Irma Weskermann emerged draped in my dressing-gown. She looked coy. ‘Don’t look at me,’ she pleaded. ‘Switch off the light, please!’ I laughed and put my arms round her waist—’We have a saying in Hindustani “If you are pregnant you have to show your belly to the midwife.” If you are going to make love you have to bare your body,’—disrobed her and led her to my bed.
    Fraulein Weskermann lay on her back and parted her thighs. I entered her without much emotion. She was not a virgin; she was damp but not very excited. All she did was to let out a moan
aah
and shut her eyes. We lay interlocked without a word or movement. Neither of us seemed to be getting very much out of it. But neither seemed to have the courage to call it off. How different it had been with Bhagmati!
    Through the hum of the air-conditioner I heard the doorbell. I looked up. It rang again. ‘Somebody at the door?’ asked the Fraulein a little alarmed. ‘Sounds like it,’ I replied. To reassure her I added, ‘Who cares!’
    She pushed me off. ‘Might be a telegram or something important like zat.’
    I got up, slipped on my dressing-gown and tiptoed to the door. I peeped through the Judas hole. It was Bhagmati.
    The ringing became more insistent. I tiptoed back. Fraulein Weskermann was sitting up in bed. ‘Who is it?’ she demanded.
    ‘A woman,’ I replied foolishly. ‘I owe her some money.
    ‘What a time to visit a man!’ she said very acidly.
    ‘It is nothing like that,’ I protested. ‘She is a sick woman I picked up on the road one morning...’
    The bell continued ringing.
    ‘I haf been a big fool,’ she said standing up. She picked up her clothes and went into the bathroom. She came out fully dressed. ‘Nice to have known you, Mr Singh. Good-bye and haf a naice time.’ She opened the door and looked the dazed Bhagmati up and down. ‘Excuse me, Madam!’ she exclaimed and marched out to her Volkswagen.
    I slumped on my sofa and covered my face with my hands. I heard the door close and then Bhagmati’s voice pleading, ‘If your slave has been guilty of indiscretion she begs a thousand pardons.’
    I refused to look at her. ‘You could have chosen a better hour.’
    ‘Huzoor,
your maidservant had an engagement at the
Misri
embassy. I thought I would leave some money with your honour and also offer my humble services. I see I have angered your honour. I must extract a pardon before I rid myself of your sight.’
    She sat down at my feet and began to press my legs. ‘Your slave had only to turn her face the other side and you were unfaithful to her!’ Her hands stroked the insides of my thighs. ‘What was the giraffe like?’ she asked saucily.
    ‘I’ll show you,’ I replied and roughly hauled her up into my lap.
    ‘
Arre
!’ she exclaimed wagging her head, ‘All males of the species are the same. One minute one woman, next minute another.’
    *
    Today is the 15th of June. Delhi had its first pre-monsoon shower. It has cleansed the atmosphere of the dust that has been hanging in the air for the past three days. A fresh breeze drives snow-white clouds across the blue sky. The earth is fragrant. The air smells of more rain. How can anyone stay indoors on a day like this?
    The choice is between Mehrauli and Okhla. Mehrauli has the Qutub Minar with its gardens, monuments and acres of mango orchards. Okhla has no monuments but it has lots of water. The Jamna has a weir from which a canal branches off. At monsoon time the river is an awesome sight. She is then Triyama the sister of the ruler of Hades. Delhiwallas who have a death-wish come to Okhla during the monsoons to hurl themselves into the Jamna’s muddy arms. Those who have a zest for living come with baskets full of sucking mangoes. They suck them and see how far into the river they can throw their