Our Favourite Indian Stories by Khushwant Singh Read Free Book Online Page B

father had been sleeping in separate rooms. This seemed odd to me. But then there were many mysteries I did not try to delve into; I simply relegated them to the back of my mind.
    Mother's room was at the other end of the gallery and her two windows overlooked mine. Sometimes she could be seen at a window, her bunch of hair, like molten gold in the sun. I knew she was sitting by the window, reading.
    She had many books, scattered all over the place — on the sofa, by the pillow, under the bedstead. Perhaps she slept very little. Often I saw the light burning in her room till late in the night.
    Once I opened one of her books. On the flyleaf I saw uncle Biren's name inscribed in spidery characters in blue ink. It fascinated me. Later I saw his name on many more books which lay scattered about in her room.
    This reminded me of uncle Biren's small cottage which I had visited with mother. One room was full of books and there was a stepladder, which he used for taking down books from the shelves. The walls of another room were covered with oddly framed paintings before which I would pause for hours. Father told me that uncle Biren had purchased these paintings in Europe before the War. My feelings for uncle Biren were a mixture of wonder and pity. How could he bring himself to live in this lonely cottage all by himself, the year through, winter and summer?
    Among Father's friends uncle Biren had a distinct place of his own. It was only he whom father invited to take tea in my room — others he received in the drawing room. When uncle Biren came I was not packed off at bedtime. I was allowed to stay on while they sat talking for long hours. Those were pleasant evenings.
    One evening, when uncle Biren called on us, he was so funnily dressed that for a moment I did not recognise him. Long boots which came up to his knees, a
khaki
knap-sack slung over one shoulder and a camera over the other, a
sola
hat, and quaintest of all, a goatee, which did not suit his face. His pockets bulged with books.
    He came to my bed and shook hands with me. Uncle Biren was always like that. He always greeted me as one greets a normal, healthy person. And he never wasted his breath in inquiring after my health.
    Mother sat beside us, busy knitting. She cast a fleeting glance at Biren and lowered her head. Uncle Biren told us that he was bound for Kufri. He would stay the night in the Rest House and return the following evening. 'I am told the watchman of the Rest House has been living in Kufri for the last thirty years,' uncle Biren said. 'He must know a lot about Kufri.'
    A faint smile spread on mother's face. 'You have been at this game for more years?
    'Oh, so you don't believe me. Then you must look at my Notes.' Uncle Biren's blue eyes lit up. Somehow any mention of his book,
A History of Simla,
always made mother smile.
    'Sometimes I come across valuable scraps of information while collecting material for my book,' uncle Biren said.
    'What kind of information, uncle?' I asked.
    I always showed keen interest in uncle's book. It buoyed up his spirits.
    'Once I chanced upon an old photograph,' uncle Biren said. 'An Englishman must have taken it.'
    'A photograph of... ?' mother asked, looking up from her knitting.
    'Of a crowd at a race course. Most of the faces were indistinct. But one face, a girl's had come out clearly. She was standing by the pavillion, an umbrella in her hand. Everyone's eyes were glued to the running horses but hers seemed to be held by something behind her. A rather incongruous note. Her looking back like this...'
    Uncle Biren suddenly stopped. The knitting lay quiet in mother's hands.
    'The caption under the photograph read:
Annandale, Simla — 1903.
Fifty years ago. And she was still looking back, umbrella in hand.'
    Uncle Biren laughed — as if at his own whimsey. Mother looked up at him, her eyes icy. Sometimes I wondered why uncle Biren indulged in such meaningless talks.
    'At times I feel it is much easier to