Sea Of Poppies Part 2

Like others of his ilk, Neel had been betrothed at birth to the daughter of another prominent landowning family; the marriage had been solemnized when he was twelve, but had resulted in only one living child - Neel's eight-year-old heir presumptive, Raj Rattan. Even more than others of their line, this boy delighted in the sport of kite-flying: it was at his insistence that Neel had ventured up to the budgerow's uppermost deck on the afternoon when the Ibis dropped anchor at the Narrows.

It was the s.h.i.+powner's flag, on the mainmast of the Ibis, that caught the zemindar's attention: he knew the chequered pennant almost as well as the emblem of his own estate, his family's fortunes having long been dependent on the firm founded by Benjamin Burnham. Neel knew, at a glance, that the Ibis was a new acquisition: the terraces of his main residence in Calcutta, the Raskhali Rajbari, commanded an excellent view of the Hooghly River and he was familiar with most vessels that came regularly to the city. He was well aware that the Burnham fleet consisted mainly of locally made 'country boats'; of late he had noticed a few sleek American-built clipper-s.h.i.+ps on the river, but he knew that none of them belonged to the Burnhams - the flags on their masts were of Jardine & Matheson, a rival firm. But the Ibis was no country boat: although not in the best of trim, it was evident that she was of excellent craftsmans.h.i.+p - such a vessel was not to be cheaply acquired. Neel's curiosity was piqued, for it seemed possible that the schooner's arrival might presage a reversal in his own fortunes.

Without unloosing his kite-string, Neel summoned his personal bearer, a tall, turbaned Benarasi called Parimal. Take a dinghy and row over to that s.h.i.+p, he said. Ask the serangs who the s.h.i.+p belongs to and how many officers are on board.

Huzoor.

With a gesture of acknowledgement, Parimal retreated down the ladder and soon afterwards, a slim paunchway pulled away from the Raskhali budgerow to nudge up alongside the Ibis. A scant half-hour later, Parimal returned to report that the s.h.i.+p belonged to Burnham-sahib, of Calcutta.

How many officers on board? Neel inquired.

Of hat-wearing topi-walas there are just two, said Parimal.

And who are they - the two sahibs?

One of them is a Mr Reid, from Number-Two-England, said Parimal. The other is a pilot from Calcutta, Doughty-sahib. Huzoor may remember him: in the old days he often used to come to the Raskhali Rajbari. He sends his salams.

Neel nodded, although he had no memory of the pilot. Handing his kite-string to a servant, he gestured to Parimal to follow him down to his stateroom, on the lower deck. There, after sharpening a quill, he picked up a sheet of paper, wrote a few lines and ran a handful of sand across the page. When the ink was dry, he handed the letter to Parimal. Here, he said, take this to the s.h.i.+p and deliver it personally to Doughty-sahib. Tell him the Raja is pleased to invite Mr Reid and himself to dine on the Raskhali budgerow. Come back quickly and let me know what they say.

Huzoor.

Parimal bowed again, and retreated backwards into the gangway, leaving Neel still seated at his desk. It was there that Elokes.h.i.+ found him, a short while later, when she swept into the stateroom in a swirl of anklets and attar: he was sitting in a chair, his fingers steepled, lost in thought. With a gurgle of laughter, she clapped her hands over his eyes and cried: There you are - always alone! Wicked! Dushtu! Never any time for your Elokes.h.i.+.

Peeling her hands off his eyes, Neel turned to smile at her. Among the connoisseurs of Calcutta, Elokes.h.i.+ was not considered a great beauty: her face was too round, the bridge of her nose too flat, and her lips too puffy to be pleasing to the conventional eye. Her hair, long, black and flowing, was her great a.s.set, and she liked to wear it over her shoulders, with no bindings other than a few gold ta.s.sels. But it was not so much her looks as her spirit that had drawn Neel to her, the cast of her mind being as effervescent as his own was sombre: although many years his senior, and well versed in the ways of the world, her manner was as giggly and flirtatious as it had been when she'd first attracted notice as a dancer of sublimely light-footed tukras and tihais.

Now, flinging herself on the large four-poster bed in the centre of the stateroom, she parted her scarves and dupattas so that her pouting lips were laid bare, while the rest of her face remained covered. Ten days on this lumbering boat, she moaned, all alone, with nothing to do, and not once do you so much as look at me.

All alone - and what about them? Neel laughed and inclined his head in the direction of the doorway, where three girls were sitting crouched, watching their mistress.

Oh them ... but they're just my little kanchanis!

Elokes.h.i.+ giggled, covering her mouth: she was a creature of the city, addicted to the crowded bazars of Calcutta, and she had insisted on bringing along an entourage to keep her company on this unaccustomed expedition into the countryside; the three girls were at once maids, disciples and apprentices, indispensable to the refinement of her arts. Now, at a gesture from their mistress's forefinger, the girls withdrew, shutting the door behind them. But even in retreat they did not stray far from their mistress: in order to prevent interruptions, they sat in a huddle in the gangway outside, rising from time to time to steal glances through the c.h.i.n.ks in a jillmilled ventilation panel on the teakwood door.

Once the door was shut, Elokes.h.i.+ divested herself of one of her long dupattas and floated it over Neel's head, snaring him in the cloth and pulling him to the bed. Come to me now, she said, pouting, you've been at that desk long enough. When Neel went to lie beside her, she pushed him back against a bank of pillows. Now tell me, she said, on the undulating note that was her voice of complaint: Why did you bring me all this way with you - so far from the city? You still haven't explained properly.

Amused by her affectation of navete, Neel smiled: In the seven years you've been with me, you'd never once seen Raskhali. Isn't it natural that I should want you to see my zemindary?

Just to see it? She tossed her head in a gesture of challenge, miming a dancer's enactment of the role of injured lover. Is that all?

What else? He rubbed a lock of her hair between his fingertips. Wasn't it enough to see the place? Didn't you like what you saw?

Of course I liked it, said Elokes.h.i.+; it was grand beyond anything I could imagine. Her gaze drifted away, as if in search of his colonnaded riverside mansion with its gardens and orchards. She whispered: So many people, so much land! It made me think: I'm such a small part of your life.

He put his hand under her chin and turned her face towards him. What's the matter, Elokes.h.i.+? Tell me. What's on your mind?

I don't know how to tell you ...

Now her fingers began to unb.u.t.ton the ivory studs that ran slantwise across the chest of his kurta. She murmured: Do you know what my kanchanis said when they saw how large your zemindary was? They said: Elokes.h.i.+-di, you should ask the Raja for some land - don't you need a place where your relatives can live? After all, you need some security for your old age.

Neel groaned in annoyance: Those girls of yours are always making trouble. I wish you would turn them out of your house.

They just look after me - that's all. Her fingers strayed into his chest hair, busying themselves in making tiny braids, as she whispered: There's nothing wrong with a raja giving land to the girls in his keep. Your father used to do it all the time. People say his women had only to ask to get whatever they wanted: shawls, jewellery, jobs for their relatives ...

Yes, said Neel, with a wry smile: And those relatives would go on receiving salaries, even when they were caught embezzling from the estate.

You see, she said, running her fingertips over his lips. He was a man who knew the value of love.

Not like me - I know, he said. It was true that Neel's own style of living was, for a scion of the Halder family, almost frugal: he managed to get by with a single two-horse carriage and made do with a modest wing of the family mansion. Much less a voluptuary than his father, he had no mistress other than Elokes.h.i.+ - but on her, he lavished his affections without stint, his relations.h.i.+p with his wife having never progressed beyond the conventional performance of his husbandly duties.

Don't you see, Elokes.h.i.+? Neel said, with a touch of sadness. To live like my father did costs money - more money than our estates could possibly provide.

Elokes.h.i.+ was suddenly alert, her eyes keen with interest. What do you mean? Everyone always said your father was one of the richest men in the city.

Neel stiffened. Elokes.h.i.+ - a pond needn't be deep to bear a lotus.

Elokes.h.i.+ s.n.a.t.c.hed back her hand and sat up. What are you trying to say? she demanded. Explain to me.

Neel knew he had said too much already, so he smiled and slipped his hand under her choli: It's nothing, Elokes.h.i.+.

There were times when he longed to tell her about the problems his father had left him with, but he knew her well enough to be aware that she would probably start making other arrangements if she learnt of the full extent of his difficulties. It was not that she was avaricious: on the contrary, for all her affectations, he knew that she had a strong sense of responsibility towards those who were dependent on her - just as Neel did himself. He regretted having let slip his words about his father, for it was premature to give her cause for alarm.

Let it be, Elokes.h.i.+. What does it matter?

No, tell me about it, said Elokes.h.i.+, pus.h.i.+ng him back against the pillows. A well-wisher in Calcutta had warned her of financial trouble in the Raskhali zemindary: she had paid no heed at the time, but she sensed now that something was really awry and that she might have to re-examine her options.

Tell me, Elokes.h.i.+ asked again: You've been so preoccupied these last few months - what's on your mind?

It's nothing you should worry about, Neel said - and it was certainly true, that no matter what happened, he would see to it that she was provided for: You and your girls and your house are all safe ...

He was cut short by the voice of his bearer, Parimal, which suddenly made itself heard in the gangway, arguing furiously with the three girls: he was demanding to be let in, and they were adamantly holding him at bay.

Hastily pulling a sheet over Elokes.h.i.+, Neel called out to the girls: Let him in.

Parimal stepped in, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Elokes.h.i.+'s covered form. Addressing Neel, he said: Huzoor, the sahibs on the s.h.i.+p said they would gladly come. They will be here soon after sunset.

Good, said Neel. But you'll have to take care of the bandobast, Parimal: I want the sahibs to be entertained as they would have been in my father's day.

This startled Parimal, who had never known his master to make such a request. But huzoor, how? he said: In such a short time? And with what?

We have simkin and lal-sharab, don't we? Neel said. You know what needs to be done.

Elokes.h.i.+ waited for the door to close before throwing off the covers. What's all this? she asked: Who's coming tonight? What's been arranged?

Neel laughed and pulled her head to his shoulder. You ask so many questions - bap-re-bap! Enough for now ...

The unexpected dinner invitation from the budgerow started Mr Doughty off on a journey of garrulous reminiscence. 'Oh my boy!' said the pilot to Zachary, as they stood leaning on the deck rail. 'The old Raja of Raskhali: I could tell you a story or two about him - Rascally-Roger I used to call him!' He laughed, thumping the deck with his cane. 'Now there was a lordly n.i.g.g.e.r if ever you saw one! Best kind of native - kept himself busy with his shrub and his nautch-girls and his tumashers. Wasn't a man in town who could put on a burrakhana like he did. Sheeshmull blazing with shammers and candles. Paltans of bearers and khidmutgars. Demijohns of French loll-shrub and carboys of iced simkin. And the karibat! In the old days the Rascally bobachee-connah was the best in the city. No fear of pishpash and cobbily-mash at the Rascally table. The dumbpokes and pillaus were good enough, but we old hands, we'd wait for the curry of c.o.c.kup and the chitchky of pollock-saug. Oh he set a rankin table I can tell you - and mind you, supper was just the start: the real tumasher came later, in the nautch-connah. Now there was another chuckmuck sight for you! Rows of cursies for the sahibs and mems to sit on. Sittringies and tuckiers for the natives. The baboos puffing at their hubble-bubbles and the sahibs lighting their Sumatra buncuses. Cunchunees whirling and tickytaw boys beating their tobblers. Oh, that old loocher knew how to put on a nautch all right! He was a sly little shaytan too, the Rascally-Roger: if he saw you eyeing one of the pootlies, he'd send around a khidmutgar, bobbing and bowing, the picture of innocence. People would think you'd eaten one too many jellybees and needed to be shown to the cacatorium. But instead of the tottee-connah, off you'd go to a little hidden c.u.mra, there to puckrow your dashy. Not a memsahib present any the wiser - and there you were, with your gobbler in a cunchunee's nether-whiskers, getting yourself a nice little taste of a blackberry-bush.' He breathed a nostalgic sigh. 'Oh they were grand old gollmauls, those Rascally burrakhanas! No better place to get your tatters tickled.'

Zachary nodded, as if no word of this had escaped him. 'I take it you know him well then, Mr Doughty - our host of this evening?'

'Not him, so much as his father. This young fellow's no more like the old man than stink-wood is like mahogany.' The pilot grunted in disapproval. 'See, if there's one thing I can't abide it's a bookish native: his father was a man who knew how to keep his jibb where it belonged - wouldn't have been seen dead with a book. But this little chuckeroo gives himself all kinds of airs - a right strut-noddy if ever I saw one. It's not as if he's real n.o.bility, mind: the Rascallys call themselves Rogers, but they're just Ryes with an honorary t.i.tle - bucksheesh for loyalty to the Crown.'

Mr Doughty snorted contemptuously. 'These days it takes no more than an acre or two for a Baboo to style himself a More-Roger. And the way this one jaws on, you'd think he's the Padshaw of Persia. Wait till you hear the barnshoot bucking in English - like a bandar reading aloud from The Times.' He chuckled gleefully, twirling the k.n.o.b of his cane. 'Now that'll be something else to look forward to this evening, apart from the chitchky - a spot of bandar-baiting.'

He paused to give Zachary a broad wink. 'From what I hear, the Rascal's going to be in for a samjaoing soon enough. The kubber is that his cuzzanah is running out.'

Zachary could no longer sustain the pretence of omniscience. Knitting his eyebrows, he said: 'Cu - cuzzanah? Now there you go again, Mr Doughty: that's another word I don't know the meaning of.'

This nave, if well-meant, remark earned Zachary a firm dressing-down: it was about time, the pilot said, that he, Zachary, stopped behaving like a right gudda - 'that's a donkey in case you were wondering.' This was India, where it didn't serve for a sahib to be taken for a clodpoll of a griffin: if he wasn't fly to what was going on, it'd be all d.i.c.key with him, mighty jildee. This was no Baltimore - this was a jungle here, with biscobras in the gra.s.s and wanderoos in the trees. If he, Zachary, wasn't to be diddled and taken for a flat, he would have to learn to gubbrow the natives with a word or two of the zubben.

Since this admonishment was delivered in the strict but indulgent tone of a mentor, Zachary plucked up the courage to ask what 'the zubben' was, at which the pilot breathed a patient sigh: 'The zubben, dear boy, is the flash lingo of the East. It's easy enough to jin if you put your head to it. Just a little peppering of n.i.g.g.e.r-talk mixed with a few girleys. But mind your Oordoo and Hindee doesn't sound too good: don't want the world to think you've gone native. And don't mince your words either. Mustn't be taken for a chee-chee.'

Zachary shook his head again, helplessly. 'Chee-Chee? And what d'you mean by that, Mr Doughty?'

Mr Doughty raised an admonitory eyebrow. 'Chee-chee? Lip-lap? Mustee? Sinjo? Touch o'tar ... you take my meaning? Wouldn't challo at all, dear fellow: no sahib would have one at his table. We're very particular about that kind of thing out East. We've got our BeeBees to protect, you know. It's one thing for a man to dip his nib in an inkpot once in a while. But we can't be having luckerbaugs running loose in the henhouse. Just won't ho-ga: that kind of thing could get a man chawbuck'd with a horsewhip!'

There was something in this, a hint or suggestion, that made Zachary suddenly uncomfortable. Over the last two days he had come to like Mr Doughty, recognizing, in the lee of his hectoring voice and meaty face, a kindly, even generous spirit. Now it was almost as if the pilot were trying to give him a word of warning, cautioning him in some roundabout way.

Zachary tapped the deck rail and turned away. 'By your leave, Mr Doughty, I'd best make sure I've got a change of clothes.'

The pilot nodded in agreement. 'Oh yes: we'll have to get ourselves all kitted out. Glad I thought to bring along a fresh pair of sirdrars.'

Zachary sent word to the deckhouse and shortly afterwards, Serang Ali came to his cabin and picked out a set of clothes, laying them on the bunk for Zachary to inspect. The pleasure of high-priming in someone else's finery had begun to wane now, and Zachary was dismayed by the array of clothes on his bunk: a blue dresscoat of fine serge, black nainsook trowsers, a s.h.i.+rt made of Dosootie cotton and a white silk cravat. 'Enough's enough, Serang Ali,' he said wearily. 'I'm done playin biggity.'

Serang Ali's demeanour became suddenly insistent. Picking up the trowsers, he held them up to Zachary. 'Mus wear,' he said in a voice that was soft but steely. 'Malum Zikri one big piece pukka sahib now. Mus wear propa cloths.'

Zachary was puzzled by the depth of feeling with which this was said. 'Why?' he asked. 'Why in the livin h.e.l.l is it so important to you?'

'Malum must be propa pukka sahib,' said the serang. 'All lascar wanchi Malum be captin-b.u.g.g.e.r by'm'by.'

'Eh?'

Now, in a sudden, bright flash of illumination, Zachary understood why his transformation meant so much to the serang: he was to become what no lascar could be - a 'Free Mariner', the kind of sahib officer they called a malum. For Serang Ali and his men Zachary was almost one of themselves, while yet being endowed with the power to undertake an impersonation that was unthinkable for any of them; it was as much for their own sakes as for his that they wanted to see him succeed.

As the weight of this responsibility sank in, Zachary sat on the bunk and covered his face. 'You don know the livin deal of what you askin,' he said. 'Six months back I was nothin but the s.h.i.+p's carpenter. Lucked out getting to second mate. Forget Captain: that's way above my bend. Ain gon happen; not bimeby, not ever.'

'Can do,' said Serang Ali, handing him the Dosootie s.h.i.+rt. 'By'm'by can do. Malum Zikri plenty smart b.u.g.g.e.r inside. Can do 'come genl'man.'

'What makes you think I can do it anyways?'

'Zikri Malum sabbi tok pukka-talk no?' said Serang Ali. 'Hab heard Zikri Malum tok Mistoh Doughty sahib-fas.h.i.+on.'

'What?' Zachary shot him a startled glance: that Serang Ali should have noticed his talent for changing voices struck a chord of alarm. It was true that when called upon, his tongue could be as clipped as that of any college-taught lawyer: not for nothing had his mother made him wait at table when the master of the house, his natural father, was entertaining guests. But nor had she spared him her hand when he'd shown signs of getting all seddity and airish; to watch her son playing the spook would set her turning in her grave.

'Michman wanchi, he can 'come pukka genl'man by'm'by.'

'No.' Having long been compliant, Zachary was now all defiance. 'No,' he said, thrusting the serang out of his cuddy. 'This flumadiddle's got'a stop: ain havin it no more.' Throwing himself on his bunk, Zachary closed his eyes, and for the first time in many months, his vision turned inwards, travelling back across the oceans to his last day at Gardiner's s.h.i.+pyard in Baltimore. He saw again a face with a burst eyeball, the scalp torn open where a handspike had landed, the dark skin slick with blood. He remembered, as if it were happening again, the encirclement of Freddy Dougla.s.s, set upon by four white carpenters; he remembered the howls, 'Kill him, kill the d.a.m.ned n.i.g.g.e.r, knock his brains out'; he remembered how he and the other men of colour, all free, unlike Freddy, had held back, their hands stayed by fear. And he remembered, too, Freddy's voice afterwards, not reproaching them for their failure to come to his defence, but urging them to leave, scatter: 'It's about jobs; the whites won't work with you, freeman or slave: keeping you out is their way of saving their bread.' That was when Zachary had decided to quit the s.h.i.+pyard and seek a berth on a s.h.i.+p's crew.

Zachary got out of his bunk and opened the door, to find the serang still waiting outside. 'Okay,' he said wearily. 'I'll let you get back in here. But you bes do what you gon do blame quick, 'fore I change my mind.'

Just as Zachary had finished dressing, a series of shouts went echoing back and forth between s.h.i.+p and sh.o.r.e. A couple of minutes later Mr Doughty knocked on the door of his cabin. 'Oh I say, my boy!' he boomed. 'You'll never credit it, but the Burra Sahib has arrived in person: none other than Mr Burnham himself! Ridden chawbuckswar from Calcutta: couldn't wait to see his s.h.i.+p. Sent the gig for him: he's in it now, coming over.'

The pilot's eyes narrowed as he took in Zachary's new clothes. There was a moment of silence as he looked him up and down, subjecting his attire to careful examination. Then with a resounding thump of his cane, he announced: 'Tip-top, my young chuckeroo! You'd put a kizzilbash to shame in those togs of yours.'

'Glad to pa.s.s muster, sir,' said Zachary gravely.

Somewhere close by, Zachary heard Serang Ali, hissing: 'What I tell you? Malum Zikri no pukka rai-sahib now?'

Three.

Kalua lived in the Chamar-basti, a cl.u.s.ter of huts inhabited only by people of his caste. To enter the hamlet would have been difficult for Deeti and Kabutri, but fortunately for them, Kalua's dwelling lay on the periphery, not far from the main road to Ghazipur. Deeti had pa.s.sed that way many times before and had often seen Kalua lumbering about, in his cart. To her eyes, his dwelling did not look like a hut at all, but had more the look of a cattle-pen; when she was within hailing distance of it, she came to a halt and called out: Ey Kalua? Ka horahelba? Oh Kalua? What're you up to?

After three or four shouts there was still no answer, so she picked up a stone and aimed it at the doorless entrance of his dwelling. The pebble vanished into the unlit darkness of the hut and a tinkle of pottery followed to tell her that it had struck a pitcher or some earthenware object. Ey Kalua-re! she called out again. Now something stirred inside the hut and there was a deepening of the darkness around the doorway until at last Kalua showed himself, stooping low to make his way out. Following close behind, as if to confirm Deeti's notion that he lived in a cattle-pen, were the two small white oxen that pulled his cart.

Kalua was a man of unusual height and powerful build: in any fair, festival or mela, he could always be spotted towering above the crowd - even the jugglers on stilts were usually not so tall as he. But it was his colour rather than his size that had earned him the nickname Kalua - 'Blackie' - for his skin had the s.h.i.+ning, polished tint of an oiled whetstone. It was said of Kalua that as a child he had shown an insatiable craving for meat, which his family had satisfied by feeding him carrion; being leather-makers, it was their trade to collect the remains of dead cows and oxen - it was on the meat of these salvaged carca.s.ses that Kalua's gigantic frame was said to have been nourished. But it was said also that Kalua's body had gained at the expense of his mind, which had remained slow, simple and trusting, so that even small children were able to take advantage of him. So easily was he duped, that on his parents' pa.s.sing, his brothers and other relatives had not had the least difficulty in cheating him of the little that was his rightful due: he had raised no objection even when he was evicted from the family dwelling and sent to fend for himself in a cattle-pen.

At that time, help had come to Kalua from an unexpected quarter: one of Ghazipur's most prominent landowning families had three young scions, thakur-sahibs, who were much addicted to gambling. Their favourite pastime was to bet on wrestling matches and trials of strength, so on hearing of Kalua's physical prowess, they had sent an ox-cart to fetch him to the kothi where they lived, on the outskirts of town. Abe Kalua, they said to him, if you were to be given a reward, what would you want?

After much head-scratching and careful thought, Kalua had pointed to the ox-cart and said: Malik, I would be glad to have a bayl-gari like that one. I could make a living from it.

The three thakurs had nodded their heads and said that he would get an ox-cart if only he could win a fight and give a few demonstrations of his strength. Several wrestling matches followed and Kalua had won them all, defeating the local pehlwans and strongmen with ease. The young landlords earned a good profit and Kalua was soon in possession of his reward. But once having gained his ox-cart, Kalua showed no further inclination to fight - which was scarcely a surprise, for he was, as everyone knew, of a shy, timid and peaceable disposition and had no greater ambition than to make a living by transporting goods and people in his cart. But Kalua could not escape his fame: word of his deeds soon filtered through to the august ears of His Highness, the Maharaja of Benares, who expressed a desire to see the strongman of Ghazipur pitted against the champion of his own court.

Kalua demurred at first, but the landlords wheedled, cajoled and finally threatened to confiscate his cart and oxen, so to Benares they went and there, on the great square in front of the Ramgarh Palace, Kalua suffered his first defeat, being knocked unconscious within a few minutes of the bout's start. The Maharaja, watching in satisfaction, remarked that the outcome was proof that wrestling was a trial not just of strength, but also of intelligence - and in the latter field Ghazipur could scarcely hope to challenge Benares. All Ghazipur was humbled and Kalua came home in disgrace.

But not long afterwards, stories began to blow back that gave a different accounting of Kalua's defeat. It was said that on taking Kalua to Benares, the three young landlords, being seized by the licentious atmosphere of the city, had decided that it would be excellent sport to couple Kalua with a woman. They had invited some friends and taken bets: could a woman be found who would bed this giant of a man, this two-legged beast? A well-known baiji, Hirabai, was hired and brought to the kotha where the landlords were staying. There, with a select audience watching from the shelter of a marbled screen, Kalua had been led into her presence wearing nothing but a langot of white cotton around his waist. What had Hirabai expected? No one knew - but when she saw Kalua, she was rumoured to have screamed: This animal should be mated with a horse, not a woman...

It was this humiliation, people said, that cost Kalua the fight at Ramgarh Palace. Thus went the story that was told in the galis and ghats of Ghazipur.

It so happened that of all the people who could vouch for the truth of this tale, Deeti herself was one. This is how it came about: one night, after serving her husband his meal, Deeti had discovered that she had run short of water; to leave the dishes unwashed overnight was to invite an invasion of ghosts, ghouls and hungry pishaches. No matter: it was a bright, full-moon night and the Ganga was but a short walk away. Balancing a pot on her hip, she made her way through the waist-high poppies towards the silver gleam of the river. Just as she was about to step out of the poppy field, on to the treeless bank of sand that flanked the water, she heard the sound of hoofs, some distance away: looking to her left, in the direction of Ghazipur, she saw, in the light of the moon, four men on horses, trotting towards her.

A man on a horse never meant anything but trouble for a lone woman, and where there were four, riding together, the signs of danger were all too clear: Deeti lost no time in hiding herself among the poppies. When the hors.e.m.e.n had approached a little, she saw that she had been mistaken in thinking that they were four in number: there were only three mounted men; the fourth was following on foot. She took this last man to be a groom but when the men had come closer still, she saw that the fourth man had a halter around his neck and was being led like a horse. It was his size that had caused her to mistake him for a horseman: she saw that he was none other than Kalua. Now she recognized the hors.e.m.e.n too, for their faces were well known to everyone in Ghazipur: they were the three sport-loving landowners. She heard one of them call out to the others - Iddhar, here, this is a good spot; there's no one around - and she knew from his voice that he was drunk. When they were almost abreast of her, the men dismounted; of their three horses, they tied two together, turning them out to graze in the poppy fields. The third horse was a large black mare, and this animal they led towards Kalua, who was himself being held as if by a tether. Now she heard a whimpering, sobbing sound as Kalua fell suddenly to his knees, clutching at the thakurs' feet: Mai-bap, hamke maf karelu ... forgive me, masters ... the fault wasn't mine ...

This earned him volleys of kicks and curses: ... You lost on purpose, didn't you, dogla b.a.s.t.a.r.d?

... Do you know how much it cost us ... ?

... Now let's see you do what Hirabai said ...

By pulling on his halter, the men forced Kalua to his feet and pushed him stumbling towards the mare's swis.h.i.+ng tail. One of them stuck his whip into the fold of Kalua's cotton langot and whisked it off with a flick of his wrist. Then, while one of them held the horse steady, the others whipped Kalua's naked back until his groin was pressed hard against the animal's rear. Kalua uttered a cry that was almost indistinguishable in tone from the whinnying of the horse. This amused the landlords: ... See, the b'henchod even sounds like a horse ...

... Tetua daba de ... wring his b.a.l.l.s ...

Suddenly, with a swish of its tail, the mare defecated, unloosing a surge of dung over Kalua's belly and thighs. This excited yet more laughter from the three men. One of them dug his whip into Kalua's b.u.t.tocks: Arre Kalua! Why don't you do the same?