Free Malgudi Days by R. K. Narayan Page A

newcomer.
    Rajam Iyer shook his head disapprovingly and drawled out a ‘No.’ The newcomer stood looking out for some time and, as if expressing a brilliant truth that had just dawned on him, said, ‘You are a Brahmin, I see. Learn, sir, that your days are over. Don’t think you can bully us as you have been bullying us all these years.’
    Rajam Iyer gave a short laugh and said, ‘What has it to do with your beastly conduct to this gentleman?’ The newcomer assumed a tone of mock humility and said, ‘Shall I take the dust from your feet, O Holy Brahmin? O Brahmin, Brahmin.’ He continued in a singsong fashion: ‘Your days are over, my dear sir, learn that. I should like to see you trying a bit of bossing on us.’
    â€˜Whose master is who?’ asked Rajam Iyer philosophically.
    The newcomer went on with no obvious relevance: ‘The cost of mutton has gone up out of all proportion. It is nearly double what it used to be.’
    â€˜Is it?’ asked Rajam Iyer.
    â€˜Yes, and why?’ continued the other. ‘Because Brahmins have begun to eat meat and they pay high prices to get it secretly.’ He then turned to the other passengers and added, ‘And we non-Brahmins have to pay the same price, though we don’t care for the secrecy.’
    Rajam Iyer leaned back in his seat, reminding himself of a proverb which said that if you threw a stone into a gutter it would only spurt filth in your face.
    â€˜And,’ said the newcomer, ‘the price of meat used to be five annas per pound. I remember the days quite well. It is nearly twelve annas now. Why? Because the Brahmin is prepared to pay so much, if only he can have it in secret. I have with my own eyes seen Brahmins, pukkah Brahmins with sacred threads on their bodies, carrying fish under their arms, of course all wrapped up in a towel. Ask them what it is, and they will tell you that it is plantain. Plantain that has life, I suppose! I once tickled a fellow under the arm and out came the biggest fish in the market. Hey, Brahmin,’ he said, turning to Rajam Iyer, ‘what did you have for your meal this morning?’ ‘Who? I?’ asked Rajam Iyer. ‘Why do you want to know?’ ‘Look, sirs,’ said the newcomer to the other passengers, ‘why is he afraid to tell us what he ate this morning?’ And turning to Rajam Iyer, ‘Mayn’t a man ask another what he had for his morning meal?’
    â€˜Oh, by all means. I had rice, ghee, curds, brinjal soup, fried beans.’
    â€˜Oh, is that all?’ asked the newcomer, with an innocent look.
    â€˜Yes,’ replied Rajam Iyer.
    â€˜Is that all?’
    â€˜Yes, how many times do you want me to repeat it?’
    â€˜No offence, no offence,’ replied the newcomer.
    â€˜Do you mean to say I am lying?’ asked Rajam Iyer.
    â€˜Yes,’ replied the other, ‘you have omitted from your list a few things. Didn’t I see you this morning going home from the market with a banana, a water banana, wrapped up in a towel, under your arm? Possibly it was somebody very much like you. Possibly I mistook the person. My wife prepares excellent soup with fish. You won’t be able to find the difference between dhall soup and fish soup. Send your wife, or the wife of the person that was exactly like you, to my wife to learn soup-making. Hundreds of Brahmins have smacked their lips over the dhall soup prepared in my house. I am a leper if there is a lie in anything I say.’
    â€˜You are,’ replied Rajam Iyer, grinding his teeth. ‘You are a rabid leper.’
    â€˜Whom do you call a leper!’
    â€˜You!’
    â€˜I? You call me a leper?’
    â€˜No. I call you a rabid leper.’
    â€˜You call me rabid?’ the newcomer asked, striking his chest to emphasize ‘me’.
    â€˜You are a filthy brute,’ said Rajam Iyer. ‘You must be handed over to the