By the same author
NOVELS
To Whom She Will (US Amrita)
The Nature of Passion
Esmond in India
The Householder
Get Ready For Battle
A Backward Place
A New Dominion (US Travelers)
Heat and Dust
In Search of Love and Beauty
Three Continents
Poet and Dancer
Shards of Memory
STORIES
Like Birds, Like Fishes
A Stronger Climate
An Experience of India
How I Became a Holy Mother
Out of India (Selected Stories)
© Copyright 1998 by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala
First paperback edition 2000
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the Publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The following stories originally appeared in The New Yorker: “Expiation,” “Farid and Farida,” “Husband and Son,” “A Summer by the Sea,” and “Parasites.” “A New Delhi Romance” also appeared in Tri-Quarterly, and “Independence” appeared in London Magazine.
Illustrations on page 2 and page 136 by C. S. H. Jhabvala
Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data Jhabvala, Ruth Prawer, 1927–
East into Upper East: plain tales from New York and New Delhi / Ruth Prawer Jhabvala.
p. cm.
Contents: Expiation—Farid and Farida—Independence—Development and progress—A New Delhi romance—Husband and Son—The temptress—A summer by the sea—Great expectations—Parasites—Fidelity—Bobby—Broken promises—Two muses. 1. New York (N.Y.)—Social life and customs—Fiction 2. New Delhi (India)—Social life and customs—Fiction. I. Title.
PR9499.3.J5E27 1998
823-dc21 98-34881
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper that meets the American National Standards Institute Z39-48 Standard.
COUNTERPOINT
P.O. Box 65793
Washington, D.C. 20035-5793
Counterpoint is a member of the Perseus Books Group.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
e-book ISBN 978-1-61902-881-4
CONTENTS
East
Expiation
Farid and Farida
Independence
Development and Progress
A New Delhi Romance
Husband and Son
Upper East
The Temptress
A Summer by the Sea
Great Expectations
Parasites
Fidelity
Bobby
Broken Promises
Two Muses
TEMPLE, OFF CHANDNI CHOWK, DELHI
I was thirteen when he was born. He was the youngest of seven of us, of whom only I, my brother Sohan Lal, and one sister (who is married, in Kanpur) are still living. Even after he had learned to walk, I used to carry him around in my arms, because he liked it. The one thing I couldn’t bear was to see him cry. If he wanted something—and he often had strong desires, as for some other child’s toy or a pink sweet—I did my best to get it for him. Perhaps I would have stolen for him; I never did, but if called upon I might have done it.
Our father had a small cloth shop in the town of P—in Haryana, India. Today this town is known all over the world for its hand-spun cotton cloth, which is made here, but when my father was alive he could barely make a living from his shop. Now we take orders from all the rich Western countries, and our own warehouse is stocked so full of bolts of cloth that soon we shall need another one. I have built a house on the outskirts of the town, and when we have to go any distance we drive there in our white Ambassador car.
On that day—a cold Friday in January—I stood outside the prison gates. I wore a warm grey coat. There was a crowd there waiting, and everyone looked at me. I had got used to that. For more than two years, wherever I went people had pointed and whispered, “Look. It is the eldest brother.” My photograph was often in the newspapers; whenever I went in and out of the court, I had to walk past all these people with cameras, from the newspapers and from the television station. So when they took my photograph outside the prison that day, I didn’t mind it. I stood and waited. My brother Sohan Lal was with me, along with some cousins and one elderly uncle. We waited and shivered in the cold. Our thoughts were only on what was going on inside. I kept reading the words that are carved over the prison entrance: “Hate the Sin but Not the Sinner.”
When they opened the gates at last, everyone rushed forward, but they would permit only me to enter. The old uncle tried to squeeze in behind me, but he was pushed back. I felt angry with him; even at that moment I had this anger against the old man, because I knew he was trying to come in not out of a feeling of love but to put himself forward and be important. They led me through the prison, which I had come to know very well, to where the body was. Everything was different that day. The courtyard and passages were empty, for whenever there is an execution they lock all the prisoners inside their cells. The officials and the doctor spoke to me in a very nice way. They stood with me while we waited for the municipal hearse, which I had ordered the night before. They had put a sheet over the face. I uncovered it to see him once more, though I knew it would not be the same face. Then I covered it again. I stood very straight and looked ahead of me. They offered me a place to sit, and I thanked them and declined. They spoke among themselves about the other body, which no one had come to claim. They would have to cremate it themselves, and they were discussing which warders should be assigned to this duty. They had neglected