Aziz quietly as he wrapped my books and tied them firmly. I paid off the
syce
with the last of my coins, watching him lead away my horse. As I stood there, one ofBlake’s two natives shouted something to the other, and they both laughed. I looked up, certain I had recognized a couple of the words.
‘What does he say, Mir Aziz?
He nodded and looked away. ‘He is saying we will make good progress today, sahib.’
Blake rode past, not giving me a look.
‘I do not believe that is what he said, Mir Aziz. Tell me, please.’
He gazed at me for a moment, clearly considering whether or not to conceal the truth. ‘He is saying you are a
pai-makh balaak
– a milk-faced boy – and you will not be able to keep up.’
I looked at the remains of my possessions strewn in the dirt about the broken trunk: my chair, a silver-plated carving knife, a couple of forks, a broken china plate, a pair of boots, some brightly coloured neckties, and several volumes splayed out where they had dropped. It seemed a fitting end to my time in Calcutta.
Part Two
Chapter Four
It took all the effort I could muster simply to stay upon my horse and to restrain myself from vomiting – though I had to stop by the roadside a few times to void my guts. I was somewhat distracted by the rain. It rained so relentlessly, so intensely, that I began to imagine that we must melt back into the earth from which we had come. Then I thought of Frank – earth to earth … dust to dust – and was filled with such a terrible emptiness that my eyes ran and I choked.
The Grand Trunk Road stood proud of the landscape around it. Through the thick, grey, incessant drops I could just make out a bare, swampy delta of birdless mangrove and marsh, twisted bushes and occasional thickets of bamboo. The road was flooded in some places and in others the rains had filled potholes with mud, and the horses – ponies rather, stout little Pegus from Burmah – stumbled into them and lost their footing. Mr Blake rode always out in front, his stiff back shrouded like a native in a cotton blanket, a constant reproof to me. He would not allow any falling back, and we made our thirty-odd miles, but not without a struggle. By the time we were done I was an empty vessel and shook with fatigue, a situation I could blame only upon myself. Then it became clear that we would not be staying in a dak bungalow such as Europeans usually stayed in, as there were none to be seen, but in small native tents which Mr Blake expected me to help to erect. Of course, with only a few natives, I realized that I would have to abandon any notion of Calcutta levels of service and that if I did not help we would all become even wetter and hungrier than we already were. And so I laboured, tired, sick, resentful and drenched. Yet it also reminded me of how at home my brothers and I had built our shelters in the woods and caught coneys and never a servant in sight, and it was just Calcutta’s customs that had given me such notions aboutservants. But then my anger at that hateful man resurged and that true thought fought with a burst of irritation that as a white man in this land I should be forced to labour thus, until I was quite dizzy with frustration. Once the tents were up they provided shelter of a kind, but since they were already wet the rain cascaded through them. I sat alone in mine, dining off cold rotis because it was not possible to light a fire, not daring to open my book packages lest they were already pulp. Then I lay down, shivering, the dense rain a windy chorus, my thoughts all of Frank and the poor fist we had both made of things.
The next two days were much the same as the first, save that the mangrove gave way to thickly sprouting paddy fields and to our left the great grey Ganges began its lugubrious meander north. My uniform quickly became dirty and chafed against my skin. My helmet left sores on my neck. I was as tired as I have ever been. I had little idea where we were going,
syce
with the last of my coins, watching him lead away my horse. As I stood there, one ofBlake’s two natives shouted something to the other, and they both laughed. I looked up, certain I had recognized a couple of the words.
‘What does he say, Mir Aziz?
He nodded and looked away. ‘He is saying we will make good progress today, sahib.’
Blake rode past, not giving me a look.
‘I do not believe that is what he said, Mir Aziz. Tell me, please.’
He gazed at me for a moment, clearly considering whether or not to conceal the truth. ‘He is saying you are a
pai-makh balaak
– a milk-faced boy – and you will not be able to keep up.’
I looked at the remains of my possessions strewn in the dirt about the broken trunk: my chair, a silver-plated carving knife, a couple of forks, a broken china plate, a pair of boots, some brightly coloured neckties, and several volumes splayed out where they had dropped. It seemed a fitting end to my time in Calcutta.
Part Two
Chapter Four
It took all the effort I could muster simply to stay upon my horse and to restrain myself from vomiting – though I had to stop by the roadside a few times to void my guts. I was somewhat distracted by the rain. It rained so relentlessly, so intensely, that I began to imagine that we must melt back into the earth from which we had come. Then I thought of Frank – earth to earth … dust to dust – and was filled with such a terrible emptiness that my eyes ran and I choked.
The Grand Trunk Road stood proud of the landscape around it. Through the thick, grey, incessant drops I could just make out a bare, swampy delta of birdless mangrove and marsh, twisted bushes and occasional thickets of bamboo. The road was flooded in some places and in others the rains had filled potholes with mud, and the horses – ponies rather, stout little Pegus from Burmah – stumbled into them and lost their footing. Mr Blake rode always out in front, his stiff back shrouded like a native in a cotton blanket, a constant reproof to me. He would not allow any falling back, and we made our thirty-odd miles, but not without a struggle. By the time we were done I was an empty vessel and shook with fatigue, a situation I could blame only upon myself. Then it became clear that we would not be staying in a dak bungalow such as Europeans usually stayed in, as there were none to be seen, but in small native tents which Mr Blake expected me to help to erect. Of course, with only a few natives, I realized that I would have to abandon any notion of Calcutta levels of service and that if I did not help we would all become even wetter and hungrier than we already were. And so I laboured, tired, sick, resentful and drenched. Yet it also reminded me of how at home my brothers and I had built our shelters in the woods and caught coneys and never a servant in sight, and it was just Calcutta’s customs that had given me such notions aboutservants. But then my anger at that hateful man resurged and that true thought fought with a burst of irritation that as a white man in this land I should be forced to labour thus, until I was quite dizzy with frustration. Once the tents were up they provided shelter of a kind, but since they were already wet the rain cascaded through them. I sat alone in mine, dining off cold rotis because it was not possible to light a fire, not daring to open my book packages lest they were already pulp. Then I lay down, shivering, the dense rain a windy chorus, my thoughts all of Frank and the poor fist we had both made of things.
The next two days were much the same as the first, save that the mangrove gave way to thickly sprouting paddy fields and to our left the great grey Ganges began its lugubrious meander north. My uniform quickly became dirty and chafed against my skin. My helmet left sores on my neck. I was as tired as I have ever been. I had little idea where we were going,
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