The next day when he woke, it was well past the usual time. He could hear the khidmatgars conferring outside his door in hushed, worried voices. Rising quickly from the bed, he hid the pipe, the lacquered box and the container of opium inside one of his trunks. Then, opening the windows, he let the room air out for a couple of minutes before letting the khidmatgars in.
One of them said: Sethji, Mesto is in the daftar. He has served your hazri.
The thought of food made Bahram faintly nauseous. I’m not hungry, he said. Tell Mesto to take it away. All I want is chai.
Sethji, the munshi wanted to know if you have any work for him today. He said there were some letters to be answered.
No. Bahram shook his head. Tell the munshi there’s no work for him today.
Ji, Sethji.
Bahram spent most of the morning in a chair by the window, looking in the direction of the river, gazing at the spot where Chi-mei’s boat had once been moored.
Around mid-day some lascars came to the Maidan and put on a display of acrobatics, climbing up the flagpoles and doing tricks on top. The spectacle pleased Bahram and he thought of asking the shroffs to give the fellows some baksheesh on his behalf. But to get up and pull the bell-rope was too much of an effort and he forgot about it. In the afternoon it was very hot and he decided to take a siesta – but when he went to lie down, it occurred to him that he would rest better after a pipe. So he fetched the paraphernalia and smoked a little before stretching himself out on his bed.
He had never felt so peaceful.
The days and nights began to melt into each other, and sometimes, when the chimes from the chapel came to his ears, it amazed him to think that this bell had once ruled his life.
One day a khidmatgar announced that Zadig had come to see him. Bahram did not much feel like making conversation, but there was nothing to be done for Zadig had already been shown up to the daftar. He changed his clothes and washed his face before crossing the corridor. But despite all that Zadig seemed to be shocked by his appearance.
Bahram-bhai! What has happened to you? You’ve become so thin.
Me? Bahram looked down at himself. Really? But I’ve been eating so much!
This was not a falsehood: nowadays a couple of mouthfuls were enough to make him feel that he was stuffed to bursting.
And you’re so pale, Bahram-bhai. Your khidmatgars tell me you hardly ever leave your rooms. Why don’t you go out more often, take a few turns around the Maidan?
Bahram was nonplussed by this. Go outside? But why? It’s so hot out there. It’s much better here, isn’t it?
Bahram-bhai, there’s always something interesting happening in the Maidan.
The daftar’s window was open and turning towards it now Bahram heard a sound like that of something solid being hit by a plank of wood. He rose and went to the window. A game of cricket was under way in the Maidan: he saw to his surprise that there were several Parsis among the players. The batsman was Dinyar Ferdoonjee, dressed in white trousers and cap.
Zadig had come to stand beside him: Where did Dinyar learn to play cricket?
Here. I can’t think where else he could have learnt.
See, Bahram-bhai. There’s always something going on down there. You should step out and join in. It will be a change.
The thought of going out filled Bahram with a sense of deep fatigue.
What does it have to do with me, Zadig Bey? he said. I know nothing about cricket.
But still …
They watched for a while in silence, and then Bahram said: We’re old men now, aren’t we, Zadig Bey? It’s these fellows who are the future – young men like Dinyar.
Down below there was a burst of applause: Dinyar had hit a ball all the way across the Maidan.
The boy looked splendidly self-confident, absolutely masterful as he leant on his bat and surveyed the field.
Bahram could not help feeling a twinge of envy.
When they make their future, do you think they will remember us, Zadig Bey? Do you think they will remember what we went through? Will they remember that it was the money we made here, the lessons we learnt and the things we saw that made it all possible? Will they remember that their future was bought at the price of millions of Chinese lives?
Down below Dinyar was running furiously between the wickets.
And what was it all for, Zadig Bey? Was it just for this: so that these fellows could speak English, and wear hats and trowsers, and play cricket?
Bahram pulled the window shut, and the sounds faded away.
Perhaps that is what Ahriman’s kingdom is, isn’t it, Zadig Bey? An unending tamasha in a desert of forgetting and emptiness.
Eighteen
June 5, House No. 1, American Hong, Canton
Queridísima Puggliosa, I feel as if an epoch had passed since I last sat down to write to you. During these last six weeks it was impossible for us even to think of corresponding with the outside world – we were warned that any courier who was caught carrying letters for us would be severely punished and under the circumstances it seemed wrong to write letters. Only a most unfeeling person would want anyone to risk the bastinado for the sake of their silly ramblings, wouldn’t they, Puggly dear?