Book Title: Once Upon A Summer
Author: Manjul Bajaj
Publisher: HarperCollins India
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 978-9369894970
Date Published: Jun. 27, 2025
Price: INR 385
Book Excerpt
Azeem
Rannpur
1895–1904
(Pages 17-21)
A young boy stood with one arm draped on the banister, his other arm bent at the elbow, with his chin held in the upturned palm of the hand. His face was turned upwards, his eyes fixed on the worn dark teakwood staircase, as he waited for his father to come down. Azeem was a light-skinned boy, with a fine nose, big almond-shaped eyes, soft pink lips. His dark brown thickly lashed eyes were lined with a dash of antimony. He looked fetching, clad in a dark green silk kurta with silver buttons and wide-bottomed white cotton pajamas.
As he waited for his father, the laughter and shouts of his cousins playing in the grounds outside wafted to his ears. He concluded that he had not been missed. He had stolen away from the game of hide and seek, quickly had a bath and got dressed to go out. His brothers and male cousins, his sisters and girl cousins had not noticed his absence.
There were thirteen of them altogether, eight boys and five girls, the oldest his brother Arif (who was almost thirteen) and the youngest his sister Arzoo (just a few months old), too young yet to join in their games. Arif, Samina, Salman, Azeem, Altaf, Shireen, Shaukat, Akram, Akbar, Amina, Salim, Amir, Arzoo. Their home, Afzal Manzil, was always alive with the sound of these names as they called out to each other while they played in the grounds or stood on the balconies of their rooms talking, their conversations zigzagging across the length and breadth of the front of the building. Their names ruled the air as mothers and aunts called them in to eat or bathe, as fathers and uncles summoned them inside for scolding or disciplining, as servants cajoled them to co-operate. Their games, chatter and horseplay were the substance of Azeem’s days. But today, he had more important things on his mind.
His father descended the stairs at last, clad in a black buttoned-down knee-length sherwani coat, his matching velvet Persian cap on his head, his feet in open, tan leather shoes embroidered on the top and curling upwards at their tips. Abba picked up his carved walnut walking stick and turned to go out of the main door, his footsteps measured, his mind deep in thought, a slight frown on his broad forehead. He had not noticed Azeem waiting at the foot of the stairs.
‘Wait, Abba!’ said Azeem. ‘Take me with you to the palace, please.’
He had been lying in wait to catch his father as he left home to go to the nawab’s durbar. His father was a high-ranking official of the nawab’s treasury and needed to be present in court every day. When he was younger, Azeem often begged to be taken along. There were minions and attendants in his father’s office who looked after little Azeem while his father was busy at work. Though Afzal Manzil was grand in its own way, seeing the grandeur of the nawab’s magnificent palace excited him enormously. His father indulged him. It pleased him that Azeem was enamoured of the courtly life, eager to walk in his father’s steps.
Abba paused, taking in Azeem’s appearance. The child was bathed and dressed, his wavy dark hair combed back neatly, so as not to give Abba any reason to turn down his plea. His eyes were shining with hope, large and liquid on his young face, the cheeks flushed pink in excitement, his neck tilted up in fervent appeal.
Outside the house, the voices of his playmates rose high and fell silent alternately, to the rhythm of the game of hide and seek, muted breathing interspersed with shouts of discovery and tumbling laughter.
‘You will miss your lessons, Azeem.’
The maulvi would be arriving soon. His siblings and cousins would then abandon their play and sit down for their lessons on dark blue woven durries with a maroon border, the small square mats laid out on the veranda in neat rows. A maulvi sahib came each day to teach them in the covered veranda, its air kept circulating and cool by servants pulling the fans and periodically throwing water on the vetiver grass blinds.
‘Please, Abba. I will ask Arif to teach me today’s portion later in the evening. I’ll catch up, I promise I will. Please let me come with you.’
His father’s eyebrows came together to review the situation. Azeem held his breath till he saw the furrows on Abba’s forehead relax.
‘Very well. Get your cap.’
He rushed upstairs to the room that he shared with his older brother Arif and his cousin Salman and quickly pulled out his white, embroidered muslin cap with tiny mirrors stitched along its front. He put it on his head hurriedly and rushed down to join his father, a whoosh of relief leaving his lips as he bounded down the stairs. Abba had agreed! Now he would get a chance to speak to him alone on the drive to the palace and plead his case uninterrupted by anyone. And later roam the stately palace grounds, fantasizing about how he too would grow up and become an important official in the nawab’s court someday.
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Excerpted with permission from Once Upon A Summer by Manjul Bajaj, published by HarperCollins India.
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