years I have followed the landlord’s orders. Like a helpless child. He tells me to threaten somebody, I threaten. He tells me to plead, I plead. If he raves that a tenant must be evicted, I have to repeat the raving at the tenant’s door. I am his creature. Everybody thinks I am an evil person, but I am not, I want to see justice done, for myself, for yourself, for everyone. But the world is controlled by wicked people, we have no chance, we have nothing but trouble and sorrow…”
He dissolved completely. Ishvar took his arm and led him to a chair, his resentment softening. “Here, sit down and don’t cry. Doesn’t look nice.”
“What else can I do but cry? These tears are all I have to offer. Forgive me, sister. I have harmed you. Now the goondas will return after forty-eight hours. They will throw your furniture and belongings on the pavement. Poor sister, where will you go?”
“I won’t open the door for them, that’s all.”
Her childish assertion touched Ibrahim, and he began weeping again. “It won’t stop them. They will bring policemen to break the lock.”
“As if the police will help them.”
“These Emergency times are terrible, sister. Money can buy the necessary police order. Justice is sold to the highest bidder.”
“But what is it to the landlord if my tailors and I sew here?” Her voice rose uncontrollably. “Who am I harming with my work?”
“The landlord needs an excuse, sister. These flats are worth a fortune, the Rent Act lets him charge only the old worthless rent, so he — ”
Ibrahim broke off and wiped his eyes. “But you know all that, sister. It’s not you alone, he is doing the same with other tenants, the ones who are weak and without influence.”
Om returned with a lump of ice that was too big to hold comfortably against the lip. He covered it in cloth and struck the floor with it. “You came like a real hero to save me,” he grinned, trying to cheer up Maneck, who looked very pale. “You jumped in just like Amitabh Bachchan.”
He unwrapped the fragments of ice and turned to the others. “Did you see it? For a minute that fucker was really scared by Maneck’s umbrella.”
“Language,” said Dina.
Maneck smiled, which stretched the cut lip. He restrained himself and took a piece of ice.
“That’s it — that’s your new name,” said Om. “Umbrella Bachchan.”
“What are you waiting for?” Dina turned angrily to the rent-collector again. “You tell your landlord, I am not leaving, I won’t give up this flat.”
“I don’t think it will help, sister,” said Ibrahim sorrowfully, “but I wish you best of luck,” and he left.
Maneck said he did not want to create trouble for Dina Aunty with his presence. “Don’t worry about me,” he uttered with minimum lip movement. “I can always return home.”
“Don’t talk like that,” she said. “After all these months, more than halfway to your diploma, how can you disappoint your parents?”
“No no, he is right,” said Ishvar. “It’s not fair, all this suffering for you because of us. We will go back to the nightwatchman.”
“Stop talking nonsense, all of you,” snapped Dina. “Let me think for a minute.” She said they were missing the point. “You heard Ibrahim’s words — the landlord just wants an excuse. Your going away will not save my flat.”
The only thing she could count on, in her opinion, was her brother’s ability to straighten out the dispute — with money, smooth words, or whatever it was that he was so good at using in his business dealings. “Once again, I’ll have to swallow my pride and ask for his help, that’s all.”
XII. Trace of Destiny
THEY MOVED MECHANICALLY THROUGH their morning acts of washing and cleaning and tea-making. Om’s stomach was sore where he had been punched, but he did not tell his uncle. They crept into Maneck’s room to check on him. He was still asleep. There were stains on his pillow; his lip and nose had bled again during the night. They called Dina to see it.
She was mentally rehearsing her meeting with Nusswan, imagining his smug face, the expression proclaiming his indispensability. She bent over Maneck — how innocent is his sleep, she thought, and felt like stroking his forehead. The lip was black where the blood had clotted. The final trickle from the nose had also congealed. They backed softly out of the room. “He’s all right,” she whispered. “The cut is dry, let him sleep.”
As she was readying to leave for her brother’s office, Beggarmaster arrived at the door, briefcase chained to his left wrist. It was his scheduled collection day. Ishvar had the money put aside from the previous week’s earnings, safe in Dina’s cupboard.
She urged him to level with the man that the next instalment would be difficult. “Better to tell him now than to have him come looking for you with a stick.”
Beggarmaster listened sceptically. Measured against his own experiences, the account of the goondas’ nocturnal assault sounded too theatrical to be true. He suspected his clients were concocting the story, preparing to renege on their contract.
Then they took him inside, showed him the shattered windows, battered sewing-machines, torn dresses and soiled fabrics, and he was convinced. “This is bad,” he said. “Very bad. Such amateurs they must be, to behave like this.”
“I’m ruined,” said Dina. “And it’s not the tailors’ fault that they won’t be able to pay you next week.”
“Believe me, they will,” he said grimly.
“But how?” implored Ishvar. “If we are thrown out and cannot work? Have mercy on us!”
Taking no notice of him, Beggarmaster walked around the room, inspecting, rapping his knuckles on the table, jotting in his little notepad. “Tell me how much it will cost to fix all the damage.”
“What good is that going to do?” cried Dina. “Those goondas will return tomorrow if we don’t vacate! And you want to waste time on an account? I have more urgent things on my mind, making sure I have shelter!”
Beggarmaster looked up from his notepad, slightly surprised. “You already have shelter. Right here. This
She nodded impatiently at the silly question.
“Those goondas committed a big mistake,” he continued, “and I am going to correct it for them.”
“And when they come back?”
“They won’t. You tailors have made your payments regularly, so you don’t have to worry — you are under my protection. Everything will be taken care of. But unless I know the amount of damage, how will I reimburse you? You want to start your sewing business again or not?”
Now it was Dina’s turn to look sceptical. “What are you, an insurance company?”
He smiled modestly in reply.
There was nothing to lose, she decided, and started multiplying the mutilated length of Au Revoir fabric by the price per yard. The loss totalled nine hundred and fifty rupees plus tax. Ishvar estimated the charge for repairing the sewing-machines to be approximately six hundred. The belts and needles were broken; and the flywheels and treadles would have to be realigned or replaced, besides a general overhaul.
Beggarmaster wrote it down, totting up the cost of the slashed mattress, pillows, wooden stools, sofa, cushions, and windows. “Anything else?”
“The umbrella,” said Maneck, awakened by their voices. “They broke some ribs.”
Beggarmaster added it to the list, then recorded the landlord’s office address and descriptions of the two men. “Good,” he said. “That’s all I need. If your landlord doesn’t know you’re my clients, he’ll soon find out. He’ll settle the damages, once I pay him a little visit. Now don’t worry, just wait for me, I’ll be back this evening.”
