The Inheritance of Loss - Kiran Desai [114]
When the man was ushered in front of Pradhan, he began such a bending, bowing, writhing, that he would not even raise his eyes. He spewed flowery honorifics: “Respected Sir and Huzoor and Your Gracious Presence and Your Wish my Pleasure, Please Grant, Your Blessing Requested, Your Honorable Self, Your Beneficence, May the Blessings of God Rain upon You and Yours, Might Your Respected Gracious Self Prosper and Might You Grant Prosperity to Respectful Supplicants….” He made an overabundant flower garden of speech, but to no avail, and finally, he backed out still scattering roses and pleas, prayers and blessings….
Pradhan dismissed him: “No exceptions.”
Then it had been Lola’s turn.
“Sir, property is being encroached on.”
“Name of property?”
“Mon Ami.”
“What kind of name?”
“French name.”
“I didn’t know we live in France. Do we? Tell me, why don’t I speak in French, then?”
He tried to send her away immediately, waving away the surveyor’s plan and the property documents showing the measurements of the plot that she tried to unroll before him.
“My men must be accommodated,” Pradhan stated.
“But our land….”
“Along all roads, to a certain depth, it’s government land, and that’s the land we are taking.”
The huts that had sprung up overnight were being populated by women, men, children, pigs, goats, dogs, chickens, cats, and cows. In a year, Lola could foresee, they would no longer be made of mud and bamboo but concrete and tiles.
“But it’s our land….”
“Do you use it?”
“For vegetables.”
“You can grow them elsewhere. Put them on the side of your house.”
“Have cut into the hill, land weak, landslide may occur,” she muttered. “Very dangerous for your men. Landslides on road….” She was trembling like a whisker from terror, although she insisted to herself that it was from rage.
“Landslide? They aren’t building big houses like yours, Aunty, just little huts of bamboo. In fact, it’s your house that might cause a landslide. Too heavy, no? Too big? Walls many feet wide? Stone, concrete? You are a rich woman? House-garden-servants!”
Here he began to smile.
“In fact,” he said, “as you can see,” he gestured out, “I am the raja of Kalimpong. A raja must have many queens.” He jerked his head back to the sounds of the kitchen that came through the curtained door. “I have four, but would you,” he looked Lola up and down, tipped his chair back, head at a comical angle, a coy naughty expression catching his face, “dear Aunty, would you like to be the fifth?”
The men in the room laughed so hard, “Ha Ha Ha.” He had their loyalty. He knew the way to coax strength was to pretend it existed, so that it might grow to fit its reputation Lola, for one of the few times in her life, was the butt of the joke, detested, ridiculous, in the wrong part of town.
“And you know, you won’t be bearing me any sons at your age so I will expect a big dowry. And you’re not much to look at, nothing up”—he patted the front of his khaki shirt—”nothing down”—he patted his behind, which he twisted out of the chair—
“In fact, I have more of both!”
She could hear them laughing as she left.
How did her feet manage to walk? She would thank them all her life.
“Ah, fool,” she heard someone say as she made her way down the steps.
The women were laughing at her from the kitchen window. “Look at her expression,” one of them said.
They were beautiful girls with hair in silky loops and nose rings in sweet wrinkling noses….
______
Mon Ami seemed like a supernatural dove of blue-white peace with a wreath of roses in its beak, Lola thought as she passed under the trellis over the gate.
“What happened, what did he say? Did you see him?” Noni asked.
But Lola couldn’t manage to talk to Noni, who had been waiting for her sister to return.
But Lola went into the bathroom and sat trembling on the closed lid of the toilet.
“Joydeep,