He penitently held out the thirty paise. ‘Thank you for letting me phone.’ His face felt hot as he heard, ringing in his ears, his voice shouting at her on the night of the dinner party.
When Miss Kutpitia spoke again, the sharpness was absent. ‘Wait, Roshan.’ She hefted up a large pile of newspapers. ‘I heard you want these for school.’
‘Thank you,’ said Roshan, staggering under the weight.
‘And you will show me your dolly, when she comes home?’ Roshan nodded. ‘Bye-bye,’ said Miss Kutpitia.
‘Bye-bye,’ said Roshan.
Gustad relieved her of the stack as they descended. Outside, Tehmul had disappeared, but the quiet of the compound was suddenly broken. They looked up and saw Cavasji at his second-floor window. ‘To the Tatas You give so much! And nothing for me? To the Wadias You give, You keep on giving! You cannot hear my prayers? The pockets of the Camas only You will fill! We others don’t need it, You think?’
Cavasji was in his late eighties. He had the habit of leaning his ancient white-maned head out the window to reprimand the sky and register his displeasure with the Almighty’s grossly inequitable way of running the universe. Demand for Gustad’s medicinal subjo from Cavasji’s household was constant, for Cavasji suffered from hypertension. Every day, his daughter-in-law fastened a fresh sprig of the mint on a string around his neck. As long as it dangled green and protective, his blood-pressure would not explode like his rage.
The window slammed shut, cutting short the skyward progress of Cavasji’s cosmic criticisms, and Gustad lowered his gaze. He glanced at the topmost page in Miss Kutpitia’s yellowed, dusty stack of newspapers. A photograph under the headlines was fleetingly illumined by light from a neighbour’s window. He saw the huge cloud of an explosion, and then the dateline. My God—1945. Saving papers for this long?
iii
The next day, Tehmul-Lungraa shuffled up as Gustad stepped out to pay the taxi-driver. ‘GustadGustadwaitpleasewait.’ The sheaf of pages was again under his arm.
Gustad decided to use the stern approach; it was good for Tehmul once in a while. ‘What is this nonsense? All the time in the compound? Do something useful. Sweep the floor, wash the dishes, help your brother.’
‘GustadGustadnotwasting. Timeveryimportantpetitionplease. PleasereadGustadplease.’
‘You were going to bring it last night. What happened?’
‘ForgotforgotGustadforgot. Veryverysorryforgot.’
The taxi-driver got impatient. ‘First remove your memsahib, then talk all day if you like.’ Gustad reached into the rear. He cradled the doll in full bridal array, and it responded with a mama-ing bleat. The blue eyes rolled open and shut.
‘Ohhhhh,’ said Tehmul. ‘Ohhhhh. Gustadpleasepleaseplease. CanItouchcanItouchpleasepleaseplease.’
‘Fingers far away,’ said Gustad sternly. ‘Just looking is allowed. Or you will dirty the white-as-milk dress.’
Tehmul rubbed his palms briskly on his shirt front, then held them out. ‘SeeGustadseeclean. Cleanverycleanhands. PleaseGustadpleasepleasepleaseletmetouch.’ Gustad examined the hands. No harm in satisfying the poor fellow’s urge.
‘OK. But once only.’ Tehmul was thrilled. He stepped closer and stood on tiptoe. His eyes shining, he gazed upon the doll’s face and gently stroked the little fingers. ‘Enough.’
‘PleasepleaseGustadpleaseonemoretime.’ This time he petted the cheek, very lightly, and paused. ‘GustadGustad,’ he said, and petted it again. ‘Ohhhhh.’ His eyes filled with tears. He looked from the doll’s sleeping face to Gustad’s, and back, then burst into sobs and hobbled away. Gustad went inside, shaking his head sadly. He sat the doll in his armchair and adjusted the long wedding dress, straightened the tiara, smoothed the veil.
‘Daddy!’ Roshan came running from the back room and tried to lift the doll.
‘What is this, no hug for me? Only for the doll?’ She put her arms around him briefly, then ran back to the doll. ‘Careful, it’s too big for you to carry.’
‘All these expensive white clothes,’ said Dilnavaz fretfully. ‘They will get dirty.’
‘So silly, to make it that big,’ said Gustad, as Roshan climbed on to the deep, commodious seat of her great-grandfather’s chair and sat beside the doll. ‘How can any child play with such a big doll?’
‘Maybe when she grows a little bigger.’
‘Bigger? Already she is past the age for dolls. And in the meantime what? It cannot stay here.’
Dilnavaz said that what was needed was some kind of showcase in which it could stand, for this doll was not a toy. ‘For now,’ she said, ‘put it flat on the bottom shelf in my cupboard.’ Roshan did not like the idea at all, even though they convinced her it was only temporary. The doll would not fit on the shelf, however, clad in its voluminous garments, especially the enormous hoop petticoat. It would have to be undressed. The doorbell rang while they debated. Dilnavaz looked through the peephole. ‘It’s that idiot. Send him away.’
Gustad opened the door, and saw that Tehmul’s eyes were dry. ‘GustadGustadpleaseimportantpetition.’ He spied the doll on the chair. ‘Ohhhh,’ he said. ‘Gustadpleasepleasetouchonceonly.’
‘No!’ snapped Roshan, to everyone’s surprise.
‘Roshan.’ That was Gustad, warningly. Then to Tehmul, ‘How much touching do you want? You touched it so much in the compound. And then you will start crying again.’
‘Crying? Why crying?’ asked Dilnavaz.
‘PleaseGustadpleasenocrying. PromisepleasecanItouch.’
Gustad gave in, and Tehmul immediately slipped his hand under the veil. He looked into the doll’s blue eyes, petted the cheek, stroked the red lipsticked lips and laughed gleefully.
‘OK, Tehmul, that’s enough. Let’s read the petition.’ Tehmul touched those smooth, cold cheeks of plaster one last time before Gustad led him firmly to the dining-table. The petition was the landlord’s response to the municipality, detailing hardships that would be imposed on the tenants if the compound was narrowed. In a covering letter, the landlord urged the tenants to attest their signatures to the petition, thereby registering their objection to the scheme and joining forces to defeat the pernicious proposition.
Dilnavaz began undressing the doll. First she removed the veil and tiara, next the little bouquet tied cleverly to the hand to create the illusion that the doll’s fingers were holding it. The pearl necklace, shoes, stockings, came off one by one, as Tehmul watched, fascinated. When she started to unbutton the dress, he became quite restless.
‘OK Tehmul, pay attention,’ said Gustad. ‘You know what to do with this?’ But Tehmul was engrossed in the undressing of the doll. Dilnavaz was down to the underclothing when a trickle of saliva started its descent from one corner of his mouth.
‘Tehmul!’ His dark red tongue, yellow where it was coated, arrested the drool.
‘GustadGustadveryimportantpetitionIbrahimtoldme.’
‘Ah, he was here collecting rents? And you understood what he told you?’
‘Veryimportantpetitionveryimportantmustbesigned.’
Gustad counted the number of copies. Thirty. He made Tehmul sit with his back to the doll. ‘Listen carefully,’ he said, but was interrupted by the mail. He dropped the letters on the table; they fanned out in falling. The return address of one was a post office box in New Delhi. ‘Listen very carefully.’
‘ListeninglisteningGustadlisteningveryveryverycarefully.’
‘Take this petition to all the flats, OK?’