without warning, as he always did. Hari often said that it was a mystery why the wooden stairs did not creak when Mahajan climbed them.
‘Gokul, drop whatever you are doing at once. I have a very important job for you. You’ll have to take some stock to Ravinder Kapoor’s house…’ he began, and then took in Gokul’s pained face and the swollen foot he was still displaying.
‘
Now
what has happened here?’
‘Nothing, Bauji. Just got hurt,’ Gokul said shamefacedly.
‘How?’ Mahajan asked suspiciously.
Gokul just hung his head down.
‘How, Gokul? Can’t you answer a simple question?’
In a burst of honesty, Gokul admitted his crime. Mahajanjust stood there and lectured Gokul for a while on what responsibility meant. Then he asked, ‘So you can’t pedal, I suppose?’
Gokul didn’t answer.
‘Who am I going to send to Ravinder Kapoor’s house with the stock tomorrow?’ Mahajan muttered. He looked uncertainly first at Ramchand and then at Chander.
Hari piped up, ‘I could go, Bauji.’
Mahajan’s nerves were already frayed. He turned his wrath on to Hari. ‘Yes, you could go. You are such a sensible creature that I’d gladly hand over saris worth lakhs to you. Yes, you could go. And break Gokul’s bicycle, your own neck, stop somewhere to eat a kulfi like a schoolboy and let a cow chew up saris worth lakhs of rupees.’
Hari looked surprised. ‘I don’t eat kulfis in the winter, and I don’t think cows eat saris in summer
or
winter. Goats do.’
Mahajan’s face went red, and Hari quickly said in a polite tone, ‘I’ll order your evening tea for you, Bauji,’ and scuttled out.
Mahajan looked at Hari’s disappearing back with malevolence. ‘Thankless job, mine,’ he said, in an uncharacteristic fit of frankness, and then he turned to Ramchand, who had gone red on Hari’s behalf. ‘Ramchand, you borrow Gokul’s bicycle tomorrow, and take some good stock to Ravinder Kapoor’s house.’
Ramchand was stunned. He, Ramchand, was to do this? To think that he was being given such a big responsibility! Such expensive stock! And he had heard Ravinder Kapoor was the biggest industrialist in Amritsar. He was supposed to have a huge, palatial house with soft carpets, air-conditioned rooms and four cars. And he’d have to go there. His stomach lurched with nervousness.
‘Gokul,’ Mahajan continued, ‘you supervise the selecting of stock. Send only the best saris. Also pick some pieces from thelatest silk consignment. Maybe some of the raw silk lehngas too. Also the ones with silver ghungroos at the hem. And let me see first what you are sending.’
But Ramchand wasn’t listening. His mind had shifted to other things.
An errand like this would probably take many days. He knew how these things worked. He would take to the Kapoor House a collection of saris in a big bundle. Hours would be spent by the bride-to-be and by the other women in her family to select a few out of them. More demands would be made. Tantrums would be thrown by the bride-to-be. Then they might change their minds about a sari and call upMahajan. Then he, Ramchand, would go there again to offer a replacement for that sari. This way he would probably have to cycle many times to Ravinder Kapoor’s house with saris.
After years of being cooped up in the shop, week after week, month after month, except for Sundays and the three days last year when he had sprained his ankle, he would now have a chance to be out in the open, cycle in the sun, look around, and maybe even sneak off to see if he could buy some second-hand books. Maybe he could also have some mossambi juice at Anand Juice Shop.
Mahajan turned to him. ‘And, Ramchand, make sure you dress well before you go there. They are big people. We don’t want anyone from our shop going there in rags. You should be dressed decently and look bathed.’
Ramchand immediately curled up his toes, to stop any smell that might be emanating from his feet from reaching
‘Gokul, drop whatever you are doing at once. I have a very important job for you. You’ll have to take some stock to Ravinder Kapoor’s house…’ he began, and then took in Gokul’s pained face and the swollen foot he was still displaying.
‘
Now
what has happened here?’
‘Nothing, Bauji. Just got hurt,’ Gokul said shamefacedly.
‘How?’ Mahajan asked suspiciously.
Gokul just hung his head down.
‘How, Gokul? Can’t you answer a simple question?’
In a burst of honesty, Gokul admitted his crime. Mahajanjust stood there and lectured Gokul for a while on what responsibility meant. Then he asked, ‘So you can’t pedal, I suppose?’
Gokul didn’t answer.
‘Who am I going to send to Ravinder Kapoor’s house with the stock tomorrow?’ Mahajan muttered. He looked uncertainly first at Ramchand and then at Chander.
Hari piped up, ‘I could go, Bauji.’
Mahajan’s nerves were already frayed. He turned his wrath on to Hari. ‘Yes, you could go. You are such a sensible creature that I’d gladly hand over saris worth lakhs to you. Yes, you could go. And break Gokul’s bicycle, your own neck, stop somewhere to eat a kulfi like a schoolboy and let a cow chew up saris worth lakhs of rupees.’
Hari looked surprised. ‘I don’t eat kulfis in the winter, and I don’t think cows eat saris in summer
or
winter. Goats do.’
Mahajan’s face went red, and Hari quickly said in a polite tone, ‘I’ll order your evening tea for you, Bauji,’ and scuttled out.
Mahajan looked at Hari’s disappearing back with malevolence. ‘Thankless job, mine,’ he said, in an uncharacteristic fit of frankness, and then he turned to Ramchand, who had gone red on Hari’s behalf. ‘Ramchand, you borrow Gokul’s bicycle tomorrow, and take some good stock to Ravinder Kapoor’s house.’
Ramchand was stunned. He, Ramchand, was to do this? To think that he was being given such a big responsibility! Such expensive stock! And he had heard Ravinder Kapoor was the biggest industrialist in Amritsar. He was supposed to have a huge, palatial house with soft carpets, air-conditioned rooms and four cars. And he’d have to go there. His stomach lurched with nervousness.
‘Gokul,’ Mahajan continued, ‘you supervise the selecting of stock. Send only the best saris. Also pick some pieces from thelatest silk consignment. Maybe some of the raw silk lehngas too. Also the ones with silver ghungroos at the hem. And let me see first what you are sending.’
But Ramchand wasn’t listening. His mind had shifted to other things.
An errand like this would probably take many days. He knew how these things worked. He would take to the Kapoor House a collection of saris in a big bundle. Hours would be spent by the bride-to-be and by the other women in her family to select a few out of them. More demands would be made. Tantrums would be thrown by the bride-to-be. Then they might change their minds about a sari and call upMahajan. Then he, Ramchand, would go there again to offer a replacement for that sari. This way he would probably have to cycle many times to Ravinder Kapoor’s house with saris.
After years of being cooped up in the shop, week after week, month after month, except for Sundays and the three days last year when he had sprained his ankle, he would now have a chance to be out in the open, cycle in the sun, look around, and maybe even sneak off to see if he could buy some second-hand books. Maybe he could also have some mossambi juice at Anand Juice Shop.
Mahajan turned to him. ‘And, Ramchand, make sure you dress well before you go there. They are big people. We don’t want anyone from our shop going there in rags. You should be dressed decently and look bathed.’
Ramchand immediately curled up his toes, to stop any smell that might be emanating from his feet from reaching
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