A House for Mr. Biswas - V.S. Naipaul [10]
It was a long wait but he endured it without discomfort. Below the bed the smell of old cloth, dust and old thatch combined into one overpoweringly musty smell. Idly, to pass the time, he tried to disentangle one smell from the other, while his ears picked up the sounds in and around the hut. They were remote and dramatic. He heard the boys return and throw down the dry wood they had brought. Prasad still raged, Raghu warned, Bipti coaxed. Then all at once Mr Biswas became alert.
‘Ey, Raghu?’ He recognized Dhari’s voice. ‘Where is that youngest son of yours?’
‘Mohun? Bipti, where is Mohun?’
‘With Dhari’s calf, I suppose.’
‘Well, he isn’t,’ Dhari said.
‘Prasad!’ Bipti called. ‘Pratap! Dehuti! Have you seen Mohun?’
‘No, mai.’
‘No, mai.’
‘No, mai.’
‘No, mai. No, mai. No, mai,’ Raghu said. ‘What the hell do you think it is? Go and look for him.’
‘Oh God!’ Prasad cried.
‘And you too, Dhari. It was your idea, getting Mohun to look after the calf. I hold you responsible.’
‘The magistrate will have something else to say,’ Dhari said. ‘A calf is a calf, and for one who is not as rich as yourself-’
‘I am sure nothing has happened,’ Bipti said, ‘Mohun knows he mustn’t go near water.’
Mr Biswas was startled by a sound of wailing. It came from Dhari. ‘Water, water. Oh, the unlucky boy. Not content with eating up his mother and father, he is eating me up as well. Water! Oh, Mohun’s mother, what you have said?’
‘Water?’ Raghu sounded puzzled.
‘The pond, the pond,’ Dhari wailed, and Mr Biswas heard him shouting to the neighbours, ‘Raghu’s son has drowned my calf in the pond. A nice calf. My first calf. My only calf.’
Quickly a chattering crowd gathered. Many of them had been to the pond that afternoon; quite a number had seen a calf wandering about, and one or two had even seen a boy.
‘Nonsense!’ Raghu said. ‘You are a pack of liars. The boy doesn’t go near water.’ He paused and added, ‘The pundit especially forbade him to go near water in its natural form.’
Lakhan the carter said, ‘But this is a fine man. He doesn’t seem to care whether his son is drowned or not.’
‘How do you know what he thinks?’ Bipti said.
‘Leave him, leave him,’ Raghu said, in an injured, forgiving tone. ‘Mohun is my son. And if I don’t care whether he is drowned or not, that is my business.’
‘What about my calf?’ Dhari said.
‘I don’t care about your calf. Pratap! Prasad! Dehuti! Have you seen your brother?’
‘No, father.’
‘No, father.’
‘No, father.’
‘I will go and dive for him,’ Lakhan said.
‘You are very anxious to show off,’ Raghu said.
‘Oh!’ Bipti cried. ‘Stop this bickering-ickering and let us go to look for the boy.’
‘Mohun is my son,’ Raghu said. ‘And if anybody is going to dive for him, it will be me. And I pray to God, Dhari, that when I get to the bottom of that pond I find your wretched calf.’
‘Witnesses!’ Dhari said. ‘You are all my witnesses. Those words will have to be repeated in court.’
‘To the pond! To the pond!’ the villagers said, and the news was shouted to those just arriving: ‘Raghu is going to dive for his son in the pond.’
Mr Biswas, under his father’s bed, had listened at first with pleasure, then with apprehension. Raghu came into the room, breathing heavily and swearing at the village. Mr Biswas heard him undress and shout for Bipti to come and rub him down with coconut oil. She came and rubbed him down and they both left the room. From the road chatter and the sound of footsteps rose, and slowly faded.
Mr Biswas came out from under the bed and was dismayed to find that the hut was dark. In the next room someone