The attitude of Buta Singh and his family to the Wazir Chands had undergone a change. Buta Singh had so completely triumphed over his colleague both in the eyes of the bureaucracy and in the estimation of the local populace that he could afford to adopt a patronizing attitude towards him. Sher Singh and Madan were constantly seeing each other during the elections and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Sher Singh’s easy success was in large measure due to Wazir Chand’s son. The opposition that had come from Sabhrai was silenced by Beena’s persistent refusal to go to Sita for help in her studies, and a not too subtle insinuation that her poor performance at the exams was a result of her mother’s attitude.

The Buta Singhs decided to call on the Wazir Chands to settle the business of going to Simla.

The arrival of Buta Singh and his family created quite a commotion in Wazir Chand’s house. They had turned up without warning. To emphasize the degree of familiarity that had developed between them, they trooped in without waiting to be announced.

‘Anyone there?’ shouted Buta Singh leading the way; Sabhrai, Sher Singh, and Beena followed behind him. They went through the sitting room into the courtyard. Wazir Chand was lying on his belly on a fiber mattress with only a loin-cloth on his person. A servant was vigorously massaging his buttocks and legs with oil. Beside him seated on a chair was his son Madan shaving himself in front of a mirror placed on a stool; one side of his face was still covered with lather. His mother had just emerged from the lavatory at the far end of the courtyard and was scrubbing her water-jug with ashes. Sita, the only one who was dressed and ready, fled to her room utterly embarrassed.

‘Oho,’ said Buta Singh jovially. ‘You are having yourself massaged.

Wazir Chand shook off the servant and got up hurriedly. He unwound the dirty dhoti on which he had been resting his chin and wrapped it round his legs; he spread a newspaper across his greasy, hairy chest. Madan wiped off the lather with a towel and stood up; his face looked like a lawn, only half of which had been mown.

‘Don’t disturb yourselves,’ protested Buta Singh. ‘This is like our own home. We are always this way.’

Sher Singh and Beena looked at each other and smiled.

‘Sardarji, come into the sitting-room Oi, ask Sita to come out,’ ordered Wazir Chand.