Salman Rushdie Midnight's children Salman Rushdie Midnight's ...

ittoon.
'What nonsense,' our Padma says. 'How can a picture talk? Stop now; you mus
t be too tired to think.' But when I say to her that Mian Abdullah had the
strange trait of humming without pause, humming in a strange way, neither m
usical nor unmusical, but somehow mechanical, the hum of an engine or dynam
o, she swallows it easily enough, saying judiciously, 'Well, if he was such
an energetic man, it's no surprise to me.' She's all ears again; so I warm
to my theme and report that Mian Abdullah's hum rose and fell in direct re
lationship to his work rate. It was a hum that could fall low enough to giv
e you toothache, and when it rose to its highest, most feverish pitch, it h
ad the ability of inducing erections in anyone within its vicinity. ('Arre
baap,' Padma laughs, 'no wonder he was so popular with the men!') Nadir Kha
n, as his secretary, was attacked constantly by his master's vibratory quir
k, and his ears jaw penis were forever behaving according to the dictates o
f the Hummingbird. Why, then, did Nadir stay, despite erections which embar
rassed him in the company of strangers, despite aching molars and a work sc
hedule which often occupied twenty two hours in every twenty four? Not I be
lieve because he saw it as his poetic duty to get close to the centre of ev
ents and transmute them into literature. Nor because he wanted fame for him
self. No: but Nadir had one thing in common with my grandfather, and it was
enough. He, too, suffered from the optimism disease.
Like Aadam Aziz, like the Rani of Cooch Naheen, Nadir Khan loathed the Musl
im League ('That bunch of toadies!' the Rani cried in her silvery voice, sw
ooping around the octaves like a skier. 'Landowners with vested interests t
o protect! What do they have to do with Muslims? They go like toads to the
British and form governments for them, now mat the Congress refuses to do i
t!' It was the year of the 'Quit India' resolution. 'And what's more,' the
Rani said with finality, 'they are mad. Otherwise why would they want to pa
rtition India?')
Mian Abdullah, the Hummingbird, had created the Free Islam Convocation alm
ost single handedly. He invited the leaders of the dozens of Muslim splint
er groups to form a loosely federated alternative to the dogmatism and ves
ted interests of the Leaguers. It had been a great conjuring trick, becaus
e they had all come. That was the first Convocation, in Lahore; Agra would
see the second. The marquees would be filled with members of agrarian mov
ements, urban labourers' syndicates, religious divines and regional groupi
ngs. It would see confirmed what the first assembly had intimated: that th
e League, with its demand for a partitioned India, spoke on nobody's behal
f but its own. They have turned their backs on us,' said the Convocation's
posters, 'and now they claim we're standing behind them!' Mian Abdullah o
pposed the partition.
In the throes of the optimism epidemic, the Hummingbird's patron, the Rani