A Suitable Boy Read online

  Praise for A Suitable Boy

  ‘The greatness of the novel, its unassailable truthfulness, owes less to research than to imagination, an instinctive knowledge of the human heart—with all its varieties of kindness and cruelty, its capacity for hurt . . . As with all the best books, one feels only dismay when the pages on the right of the tome start thinning out.’ —Observer

  ‘So vast and so amiably peopled [A Suitable Boy] is a long, sweet, sleepless pilgrimage to life. Rich and epical, A Suitable Boy is nonetheless strikingly unpretentious . . . In 1,400 pages [the novel] covers India like a sun, warming a whole country in its historical rays . . . It is almost impossible to imagine an unswayed reader.’ —Guardian

  ‘Not merely one of the longest novels in English; it may also prove to be the most fecund as well as the most prodigious work of the latter half of [the twentieth] century.’ —The Times

  ‘A phenomenon, a prodigy, a marvel of 19th century storytelling in the language of today . . . It is hard to believe that Seth is only one man. He writes with the omniscience and authority of a large, orderly committee of experts on Indian politics, law, medicine, crowd psychology, urban and rural social customs, dress, cuisine, horticulture, funerary rites, cricket and even the technicalities of shoe manufacture.’ —Evening Standard

  ‘Conceived on the grand scale of the great 19th century novels—War and Peace, Middlemarch—A Suitable Boy grows to match them in breadth and depth . . . [A] massive and magnificent book.’ —Sunday Times

  ‘We should be grateful for this panoramic sweep which revives in our memory a period when a whole way of life came to an end . . . [Seth’s] sure touch is really quite incredible, his characters are consistent from beginning to end.’ —The Hindu

  ‘A quietly monumental novel . . . [Seth] has given that unlikeliest of hybrids, a modest tour de force.’ —Times Literary Supplement

  ‘An immensely enjoyable novel which describes with unhurried pace the panorama of India . . . Everything appears familiar to us, yet in fact it is newly minted by a master artist.’ —Hindustan Times

  A Suitable Boy

  VIKRAM SETH

  Copyright

  A Phoenix ebook

  First published in Great Britain in 1993 by Weidenfeld & Nicolson

  This ebook published in 2013 by Phoenix

  © Vikram Seth 1993

  The right of Vikram Seth to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978 1 7802 2790 0

  The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

  Orion House

  5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane

  London, WC2H 9EA

  An Hachette UK company

  www.orionbooks.co.uk

  To Papa and Mama

  and the memory of Amma

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise for A Suitable Boy

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Part One

  1.1

  1.2

  1.3

  1.4

  1.5

  1.6

  1.7

  1.8

  1.9

  1.10

  1.11

  1.12

  1.13

  1.14

  1.15

  1.16

  1.17

  1.18

  1.19

  Part Two

  2.1

  2.2

  2.3

  2.4

  2.5

  2.6

  2.7

  2.8

  2.9

  2.10

  2.11

  2.12

  2.13

  2.14

  2.15

  2.16

  2.17

  2.18

  2.19

  2.20

  Part Three

  3.1

  3.2

  3.3

  3.4

  3.5

  3.6

  3.7

  3.8

  3.9

  3.10

  3.11

  3.12

  3.13

  3.14

  3.15

  3.16

  3.17

  3.18

  3.19

  3.20

  Part Four

  4.1

  4.2

  4.3

  4.4

  4.5

  4.6

  4.7

  4.8

  4.9

  4.10

  4.11

  Part Five

  5.1

  5.2

  5.3

  5.4

  5.5

  5.6

  5.7

  5.8

  5.9

  5.10

  5.11

  5.12

  5.13

  5.14

  5.15

  5.16

  Part Six

  6.1

  6.2

  6.3

  6.4

  6.5

  6.6

  6.7

  6.8

  6.9

  6.10

  6.11

  6.12

  6.13

  6.14

  6.15

  6.16

  6.17

  6.18

  6.19

  6.20

  6.21

  6.22

  6.23

  6.24

  6.25

  6.26

  6.27

  Part Seven

  7.1

  7.2

  7.3

  7.4

  7.5

  7.6

  7.7

  7.8

  7.9

  7.10

  7.11

  7.12

  7.13

  7.14

  7.15

  7.16

  7.17

  7.18

  7.19

  7.20

  7.21

  7.22

  7.23

  7.24

  7.25

  7.26

  7.27

  7.28

  7.29

  7.30

  7.31

  7.32

  7.33

  7.34

  7.35

  7.36

  7.37

  7.38

  7.39

  7.40

  7.41

  7.42

  7.43

  7.44

  7.45

  7.46

  Part Eight

  8.1

  8.2

  8.3

  8.4

  8.5

  8.6

  8.7

  8.8

  8.9

  8.10

  8.11

  8.12

  8.13

  8.14

  Part Nine

  9.1

  9.2

  9.3

  9.4

  9.5

  9.6

  9.7

  9.8

  9.9

  9.10

  9.11

  9.12

  9.13

 
9.14

  9.15

  9.16

  9.17

  9.18

  9.19

  9.20

  9.21

  9.22

  9.23

  Part Ten

  10.1

  10.2

  10.3

  10.4

  10.5

  10.6

  10.7

  10.8

  10.9

  10.10

  10.11

  10.12

  10.13

  10.14

  10.15

  10.16

  10.17

  10.18

  10.19

  10.20

  10.21

  10.22

  Part Eleven

  11.1

  11.2

  11.3

  11.4

  11.5

  11.6

  11.7

  11.8

  11.9

  11.10

  11.11

  11.12

  11.13

  11.14

  11.15

  11.16

  11.17

  11.18

  11.19

  11.20

  11.21

  11.22

  11.23

  11.24

  11.25

  11.26

  11.27

  11.28

  11.29

  11.30

  11.31

  11.32

  Part Twelve

  12.1

  12.2

  12.3

  12.4

  12.5

  12.6

  12.7

  12.8

  12.9

  12.10

  12.11

  12.12

  12.13

  12.14

  12.15

  12.16

  12.17

  12.18

  12.19

  12.20

  12.21

  12.22

  12.23

  12.24

  12.25

  12.26

  12.27

  Part Thirteen

  13.1

  13.2

  13.3

  13.4

  13.5

  13.6

  13.7

  13.8

  13.9

  13.10

  13.11

  13.12

  13.13

  13.14

  13.15

  13.16

  13.17

  13.18

  13.19

  13.20

  13.21

  13.22

  13.23

  13.24

  13.25

  13.26

  13.27

  13.28

  13.29

  13.30

  13.31

  13.32

  13.33

  13.34

  13.35

  13.36

  13.37

  13.38

  Part Fourteen

  14.1

  14.2

  14.3

  14.4

  14.5

  14.6

  14.7

  14.8

  14.9

  14.10

  14.11

  14.12

  14.13

  14.14

  14.15

  14.16

  14.17

  14.18

  14.19

  14.20

  14.21

  14.22

  14.23

  14.24

  14.25

  14.26

  14.27

  14.28

  14.29

  Part Fifteen

  15.1

  15.2

  15.3

  15.4

  15.5

  15.6

  15.7

  15.8

  15.9

  15.10

  15.11

  15.12

  15.13

  15.14

  15.15

  15.16

  15.17

  15.18

  15.19

  15.20

  15.21

  15.22

  Part Sixteen

  16.1

  16.2

  16.3

  16.4

  16.5

  16.6

  16.7

  16.8

  16.9

  16.10

  16.11

  16.12

  16.13

  16.14

  16.15

  16.16

  16.17

  16.18

  16.19

  16.20

  16.21

  16.22

  16.23

  16.24

  16.25

  Part Seventeen

  17.1

  17.2

  17.3

  17.4

  17.5

  17.6

  17.7

  17.8

  17.9

  17.10

  17.11

  17.12

  17.13

  17.14

  17.15

  17.16

  17.17

  17.18

  17.19

  17.20

  17.21

  17.22

  17.23

  17.24

  17.25

  17.26

  17.27

  17.28

  17.29

  17.30

  17.31

  17.32

  17.33

  17.34

  17.35

  17.36

  Part Eighteen

  18.1

  18.2

  18.3

  18.4

  18.5

  18.6

  18.7

  18.8

  18.9

  18.10

  18.11

  18.12

  18.13

  18.14

  18.15

  18.16

  18.17

  18.18

  18.19

  18.20

  18.21

  18.22

  18.23

  18.24

  18.25

  18.26

  18.27

  18.28

  18.29

  18.30

  18.31

  18.32

  18.33

  18.34

  Part Nineteen

  19.1

  19.2

  19.3

  19.4

  19.5

  19.6

  19.7

  19.8

  19.9

  19.10

  19.11

  19.12

  19.13

  19.14

  19.15

  19.16

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  By Vikram Seth

  A WORD OF THANKS

  To these I owe a debt past telling:

  My several muses, harsh and kind;

  My folks, who stood my sulks and yelling,

  And (in the long run) did not mind;

  Dead legislators, whose orations

  I’ve filched to mix my own potations;

  Indeed, all those whose brains I’ve pressed,

  Unmerciful, because obsessed;

  My own dumb soul, which on a pittance

  Survived to weave this fictive spell;

  And, gentle reader, you as well,

  The fountainhead of all remittance.

  Buy me before good sense insists

  You’ll strain your purse and sprain your wrists.

  I would like personally to thank Jaishree Ram Mohan and her enthusiastic young team at Penguin India for proofreading A Suitable Boy in 2013,

  and Ajith Kumar for typesetting it.

  The superfluous, that very necessary thing. . . .

  VOLTAIRE

  The secret of being a bore is to say everything.

  VOLTAIRE

  Part One

  1.1

  ‘You too will marry a boy I choose,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra firmly to her younger daughter.

 
; Lata avoided the maternal imperative by looking around the great lamp-lit garden of Prem Nivas. The wedding guests were gathered on the lawn. ‘Hmm,’ she said. This annoyed her mother further.

  ‘I know what your hmms mean, young lady, and I can tell you I will not stand for hmms in this matter. I do know what is best. I am doing it all for you. Do you think it is easy for me, trying to arrange things for all four of my children without His help?’ Her nose began to redden at the thought of her husband, who would, she felt certain, be partaking of their present joy from somewhere benevolently above. Mrs Rupa Mehra believed, of course, in reincarnation, but at moments of exceptional sentiment, she imagined that the late Raghubir Mehra still inhabited the form in which she had known him when he was alive: the robust, cheerful form of his early forties before overwork had brought about his heart attack at the height of the Second World War. Eight years ago, eight years, thought Mrs Rupa Mehra miserably.

  ‘Now, now, Ma, you can’t cry on Savita’s wedding day,’ said Lata, putting her arm gently but not very concernedly around her mother’s shoulder.

  ‘If He had been here, I could have worn the tissue-patola sari I wore for my own wedding,’ sighed Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘But it is too rich for a widow to wear.’

  ‘Ma!’ said Lata, a little exasperated at the emotional capital her mother insisted on making out of every possible circumstance. ‘People are looking at you. They want to congratulate you, and they’ll think it very odd if they see you crying in this way.’

  Several guests were indeed doing namaste to Mrs Rupa Mehra and smiling at her; the cream of Brahmpur society, she was pleased to note.

  ‘Let them see me!’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra defiantly, dabbing at her eyes hastily with a handkerchief perfumed with 4711 Eau de Cologne. ‘They will only think it is because of my happiness at Savita’s wedding. Everything I do is for you, and no one appreciates me. I have chosen such a good boy for Savita, and all everyone does is complain.’

  Lata reflected that of the four brothers and sisters, the only one who hadn’t complained of the match had been the sweet-tempered, fair-complexioned, beautiful Savita herself.

  ‘He is a little thin, Ma,’ said Lata a bit thoughtlessly. This was putting it mildly. Pran Kapoor, soon to be her brother-in-law, was lank, dark, gangly, and asthmatic.

  ‘Thin? What is thin? Everyone is trying to become thin these days. Even I have had to fast the whole day and it is not good for my diabetes. And if Savita is not complaining, everyone should be happy with him. Arun and Varun are always complaining: why didn’t they choose a boy for their sister then? Pran is a good, decent, cultured khatri boy.’

  There was no denying that Pran, at thirty, was a good boy, a decent boy, and belonged to the right caste. And, indeed, Lata did like Pran. Oddly enough, she knew him better than her sister did—or, at least, had seen him for longer than her sister had. Lata was studying English at Brahmpur University, and Pran Kapoor was a popular lecturer there. Lata had attended his class on the Elizabethans, while Savita, the bride, had met him for only an hour, and that too in her mother’s company.

  ‘And Savita will fatten him up,’ added Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘Why are you trying to annoy me when I am so happy? And Pran and Savita will be happy, you will see. They will be happy,’ she continued emphatically. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she now beamed at those who were coming up to greet her. ‘It is so wonderful—the boy of my dreams, and such a good family. The Minister Sahib has been very kind to us. And Savita is so happy. Please eat something, please eat: they have made such delicious gulab-jamuns, but owing to my diabetes I cannot eat them even after the ceremonies. I am not even allowed gajak, which is so difficult to resist in winter. But please eat, please eat. I must go in to check what is happening: the time that the pandits have given is coming up, and there is no sign of either bride or groom!’ She looked at Lata, frowning. Her younger daughter was going to prove more difficult than her elder, she decided.