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Authors: Sunjeev Sahota
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land.
‘I wanted to let you know we’ve found a good match for Palvinder.’
Babuji nodded. ‘So I hear.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come and ask for your permission first.’
‘Oh, those days are gone, Tarlochan. Is the girl happy with the match?’
‘If the match has your blessing, then the rest of us don’t need to question it. They’re from Jannat.’
‘On the Margiri side? I know the seth who owns the land. They’re a good family.’
‘I’ve no doubt. But he’s the only son and if we can’t pay the full dowry they say they’ll refuse. And she’s already been refused once. She won’t get another chance.’
Babuji sighed. ‘It’s a monstrous business. “I want five motorbikes and ten cows before your daughter can marry my son.” But it’s the way these things work.’
‘I just wanted to check that you think their demands are reasonable.’ He paused, then decided to add, ‘If they insist I’ll of course pay.’
‘I think it’s monstrous, like I said, and I hope one day it changes and we all start practising the religions we preach. Until then . . .’ He opened his hand in a gesture of resignation. ‘If you find you can’t pay, we’ll give them my Contessa. It still drives like a dream.’
‘I didn’t come here to ask—’
‘I know you didn’t.’
Tochi nodded. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed out the hour. He’d be late for his first job. He put on the table the following quarter’s rent. ‘It’s the same as before I left. Aren’t you ever going to increase it?’
‘Can you afford it if I do?’
‘I’ll just have to give them one less motorbike.’
Babuji feigned horror. ‘Not the motorbike. People will think we’re animals if we only give four.’
That afternoon, Radhika Madam asked why he wasn’t going the usual way, via the maidaan, and Tochi explained it was because of the election. There were rallies. This way would be quicker.
‘I’ll be glad when election season is over,’ Madam said, fanning herself with the end of her pallu. ‘And the rains are taking so long, na?’
He took the hairpin turn onto Lohanipur Road and sped towards the bazaar. But it looked like here, too, there was a rally, and he gently braked into the crowd. He tried intimidating his way through, delivering long bursts on the horn.
‘Might be quicker to walk, Madam.’
‘In this heat? And give his mother more reason to complain I’m not fair enough? I’ll wait, thank you very much.’
So he forced his way to the side, parking beside a few other drivers, and switched the engine off.
It was the Maheshwar Sena. And the same white banner Tochi had seen at the maidaan all those weeks ago now hung in a taut smile across the entrance to the bazaar: Bharat is for the pure of blood and blood we will shed to keep it pure. Three, four, five people were on the stage, dressed in saffron and passing between them a microphone boxed in an orange collar. Their words boomed – loud and fuzzed with static – through speakers tied to tree trunks all around. They spoke of the need to regain control. That their religion was becoming polluted, the gods were being angered. The land was increasingly infested by achhuts, churehs, chamaars, dalits, adivasis, backwards, scheduleds – whatever new name they decided to try and hide behind. They needed to be put back in their place. Not given land and handouts and government positions.
‘Maybe I will walk and you can go,’ Madam said.
‘If you want.’
Clearly she didn’t, and stayed put. ‘Such backward logh. And how useless is our government that they can’t do anything? Do you know, our maid, Paro, told me that one of these goondeh made her husband get off the bus and walk home?’
Tochi said nothing.
‘They’ve no shame.’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t be clever.’
Though there were shouts of support and one or two tatty saffron flags above the roving mass of heads, mostly the crowd was impatient and kept calling for the swamijis
‘I wanted to let you know we’ve found a good match for Palvinder.’
Babuji nodded. ‘So I hear.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come and ask for your permission first.’
‘Oh, those days are gone, Tarlochan. Is the girl happy with the match?’
‘If the match has your blessing, then the rest of us don’t need to question it. They’re from Jannat.’
‘On the Margiri side? I know the seth who owns the land. They’re a good family.’
‘I’ve no doubt. But he’s the only son and if we can’t pay the full dowry they say they’ll refuse. And she’s already been refused once. She won’t get another chance.’
Babuji sighed. ‘It’s a monstrous business. “I want five motorbikes and ten cows before your daughter can marry my son.” But it’s the way these things work.’
‘I just wanted to check that you think their demands are reasonable.’ He paused, then decided to add, ‘If they insist I’ll of course pay.’
‘I think it’s monstrous, like I said, and I hope one day it changes and we all start practising the religions we preach. Until then . . .’ He opened his hand in a gesture of resignation. ‘If you find you can’t pay, we’ll give them my Contessa. It still drives like a dream.’
‘I didn’t come here to ask—’
‘I know you didn’t.’
Tochi nodded. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed out the hour. He’d be late for his first job. He put on the table the following quarter’s rent. ‘It’s the same as before I left. Aren’t you ever going to increase it?’
‘Can you afford it if I do?’
‘I’ll just have to give them one less motorbike.’
Babuji feigned horror. ‘Not the motorbike. People will think we’re animals if we only give four.’
That afternoon, Radhika Madam asked why he wasn’t going the usual way, via the maidaan, and Tochi explained it was because of the election. There were rallies. This way would be quicker.
‘I’ll be glad when election season is over,’ Madam said, fanning herself with the end of her pallu. ‘And the rains are taking so long, na?’
He took the hairpin turn onto Lohanipur Road and sped towards the bazaar. But it looked like here, too, there was a rally, and he gently braked into the crowd. He tried intimidating his way through, delivering long bursts on the horn.
‘Might be quicker to walk, Madam.’
‘In this heat? And give his mother more reason to complain I’m not fair enough? I’ll wait, thank you very much.’
So he forced his way to the side, parking beside a few other drivers, and switched the engine off.
It was the Maheshwar Sena. And the same white banner Tochi had seen at the maidaan all those weeks ago now hung in a taut smile across the entrance to the bazaar: Bharat is for the pure of blood and blood we will shed to keep it pure. Three, four, five people were on the stage, dressed in saffron and passing between them a microphone boxed in an orange collar. Their words boomed – loud and fuzzed with static – through speakers tied to tree trunks all around. They spoke of the need to regain control. That their religion was becoming polluted, the gods were being angered. The land was increasingly infested by achhuts, churehs, chamaars, dalits, adivasis, backwards, scheduleds – whatever new name they decided to try and hide behind. They needed to be put back in their place. Not given land and handouts and government positions.
‘Maybe I will walk and you can go,’ Madam said.
‘If you want.’
Clearly she didn’t, and stayed put. ‘Such backward logh. And how useless is our government that they can’t do anything? Do you know, our maid, Paro, told me that one of these goondeh made her husband get off the bus and walk home?’
Tochi said nothing.
‘They’ve no shame.’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t be clever.’
Though there were shouts of support and one or two tatty saffron flags above the roving mass of heads, mostly the crowd was impatient and kept calling for the swamijis
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