'Burri Memsahib?' he called, knocking at the door of Mrs Rupa Mehra's room.

'What?... Who?'

'Burri Memsahib, your father is here.'

'Oh. Oh.' Mrs Rupa Mehra, who had been enjoying an afternoon nap, woke into a nightmare. 'Tell him I will be with him immediately, and offer him some tea.'

'Yes, Memsahib.'

Mansoor entered the drawing room. Dr Seth was staring at an ashtray.

'Well ? Are you dumb as well as half-witted ?' asked Dr Kishen Chand Seth.

'She's just coming, Sahib.'

'Who's just coming ? Fool !'

'Burri Memsahib, Sahib. She was resting.'

That Rupa, his mere chit of a daughter, could ever somehow have been elevated into not just a Memsahib but a Burri Memsahib puzzled and annoyed Dr Seth.

Mansoor said, 'Will you have some tea, Sahib? Or coffee?'

'Just now you offered me nimbu pani.'

'Yes, Sahib.'

'A glass of nimbu pani.'

'Yes, Sahib. At once.' Mansoor made to go.

'And oh -'

'Yes, Sahib?'

45'Are there any arrowroot biscuits in this house ?'

'I think so, Sahib.'

Mansoor went into the back garden to pluck a couple oft limes, then returned to the kitchen to squeeze them into juice.

Dr Kishen Chand Seth picked up a day-old Statesman in preference to that day's Brahmpur Chronicle, and sat down to read in an armchair. Everyone was half-witted in this house.

Mrs Rupa Mehra dressed hurriedly in a black and white cotton sari and emerged from her room. She entered the drawing room, and began to apologize.

'Oh, stop it, stop it, stop all this nonsense,' said Dr Kishen Chand Seth impatiently in Hindi.

'Yes, Baoji.'

'After waiting for a week I decided to visit you. What kind of daughter are you ?'

'A week ?' said Mrs Rupa Mehra palely.

'Yes, yes, a week. You heard me, Burri Memsahib.'

Mrs Rupa Mehra didn't know which was worse, her father's anger or his sarcasm.

'But I only arrived from Calcutta yesterday.'

Her father seemed ready to explode at this patent fiction when Mansoor came in with the nimbu pani and a plate of arrowroot biscuits. He noticed the expression on Dr Seth's face and stood hesitantly by the door.

'Yes, yes, put it down here, what are you waiting for?'

Mansoor set the tray down on a small glass-topped table and turned to leave. Dr Seth took a sip and bellowed in fury-

'Scoundrel !'

Mansoor turned, trembling. He was only sixteen, and was standing in for his father, who had taken a short leave. None of his teachers during his five years at a village school had inspired in him such erratic terror as Burri Memsahib's crazy father.

'You rogue - do you want to poison me ?'

'No, Sahib.'

'What have you given me ?'

46 fc

'Nimbu pani, Sahib.'

Dr Seth, jowls shaking, looked closely at Mansoor. Was he trying to cheek him ?

'Of course it's nimbu pani. Did you think I thought it was whisky ?'

'Sahib.' Mansoor was nonplussed.

'What have you put in it ?'

'Sugar, Sahib.'

'You buffoon! I have my nimbu pani made with salt, not sugar,' roared Dr Kishen Chand Seth. 'Sugar is poison for me. I have diabetes, like your Burri Memsahib. How many times have I told you that ?'

Mansoor was tempted to reply, 'Never,' but thought better of it. Usually Dr Seth had tea, and he brought the milk and sugar separately.

Dr Kishen Chand Seth rapped his stick on the floor. 'Go. Why are you staring at me like an owl ?'

'Yes, Sahib. I'll make another glass.'

'Leave it. No. Yes - make another glass.'