Anita Desai - In Custody

Anita Desai was born and educated in India. Her published works include adult novels, childrens books and short stories. Clear Light of Day (1980) and In Custody (1984) were both shortlisted for the Booker Prize, and The Village by the Sea won the Guardian Award for Childrens Fiction in 1982. Anita Desai is a Fellow of the Royal society of Literature in London, of the American Academy of Arts and Letters in New York and of Girton College at the University of Cambridge. She teaches in the Writing Program at M.I.T. and divides her time between India, Boston, Massachusetts and Cambridge, England. In Custody was recently filmed by Merchant Ivory Productions. Her latest novel, Fasting, Feasting was shortlisted for the 1999 Booker Prize.

they should take, who have the power And they should keep who can.

HIS FIRST FEELING on turning around at the tap on his shoulder while he was buying cigarettes at the college canteen and seeing his old friend Murad was one of joy so that he gasped Murad? You? and the cigarettes fell from his hand in amazement, but this rapidly turned to anxiety when Murad gave a laugh, showing the betel-stained teeth beneath the small bristling moustache he still wore on his upper lip. But I have a class just now, Murad, he stammered as Murad squeezed his shoulders tightly as if he did not intend to let go.

Stop worrying about your class, Murad said, drawing him close to him and laughing into his ear. Ive come all the way from Delhi to see you cant you give me half an hour of your time?

But its Monday not on Monday, Murad.

Oh, so friendship is only for Sunday, is it? Is that friendship? Murad boomed.

They walked away from the canteen, across the dusty field that separated the corrugated iron shack of the canteen from the brick building of the college where Deven taught. Deven was aware that many of his students had observed this encounter with his old friend and were staring openly, some even smirking at the sight. He tried to wriggle out of Murads grasp unobtrusively so as not to offend him.

Just one more class, Murad, he pleaded, then Im free to go home.

Home? Who wants to go home? shouted Murad. Were going out to lunch. Were going to lunch in the best restaurant in your great city. If I come all the way from Delhi to see you, then you can at least give me a good lunch, he added in a petulant voice.

Of course, of course, Deven assured him, feeling guilty at his lapse in hospitality. Here, have a cigarette, I bought two. He fumbled in his shirt pocket for them and handed one to his friend.

Still a two-cigarette man, are you? Murad laughed, holding one between his fingers and waiting for Deven to strike a match. As there was a March wind tearing across the open field and whirling dust and dry leaves around violently, this was a lengthy, fumbled business. When it was done at last and they strolled on, Murad said insolently, A frill-fledged lecturer in a college, an important citizen of Mirpore, and still cant afford a whole packet of cigarettes? You seem to be where you were in your college days. Whats the matter?

No, no, Deven hastened to explain. My wife has told me not to buy a packet at a time. She says if I have to go out to buy just one at a time, I will smoke less. He tried to laugh, as at a pleasant joke. Women are always trying to make you smoke less, drink less. You know.

Oh, so you do still drink, do you? Im glad to hear that, Murad gave a yelp and another clap on Devens shoulder. Will I get a drink with my lunch?

Deven was shocked. He looked furtively to the left and the right. They were walking up the stairs to the main hall. Anyone could have heard, even someone on the staff, or the Principal himself. His eyebrows crept together in a furry scowl. Please, Murad, leave me now, he muttered anxiously, hunching his shoulders and clutching his books to his chest. I must go to my class.

Even a visit from an old friend you have not seen for years will not make you give up your damned class? Murad shouted, pretending to be outraged. Perhaps I should not have come. Why did I bother to catch a bus and travel all the way in this heat to see an old friend who doesnt even care?

Deven felt uneasy, certain that Murad had reasons for this that he had not yet divulged. Determined not to go another step with Murad at his side, he stood at the top of the stairs and begged, Please, Murad, wait in the canteen for me. Have a cup of tea there. Ill join you after my class. Then he swung away with such desperation that he dashed right into a group of girl students also coming up the stairs and caused much offence, affront, tittering and giggling which Murad stood and watched with a grin.

Recoiling from them, Deven made his way down the passage to his classroom and arrived at the desk beside the blackboard as if at a refuge, panting with exertion and relief. Here he could turn his back to the class and pretend to write something on the blackboard while he composed himself and tried to construct an authoritative teacher-self out of his jolted nerves and distracted ways. Why should a visit from Murad upset him so much? There was no obvious reason of course they had known each other since they were at school together: Murad had been the spoilt rich boy with money in his pocket for cinema shows and cigarettes and Deven the poor widows son who could be bribed and bought to do anything for him, and although this had been the basis of their friendship, it had grown and altered and stood the test of time. But Deven did not like him appearing without warning during college hours and disturbing him just when he needed to concentrate; it was very upsetting. Now, instead of going home to lunch, he would have to displease his wife by keeping her waiting, and not turning up, and instead spend far too much money on a restaurant meal for Murad. He pressed his hand to his shirt pocket where he kept his money ever since a pickpocket on the bus had stolen his wallet. There was not much to feel in the pocket except for one crumbling cigarette: it was the end of the month after all and he had had to give Sarla more household money just that morning. How would he manage? He could not bear to think of Murad flashing those brightly coloured teeth in another derisive grin and saying, Oh, still a two-cigarette man?