Suddenly Captain Chillingworth bristled. 'Sorry?' His voice was emphatic enough to startle everyone. 'Why, no: I am not sorry in the least. I have seen enough of such things in my time; I can well do without another round of butchery.'

'Butchery?' The judge blinked in surprise. 'But Captain Chillingworth, I am sure there will be no more killing than is strictly necessary. There is always a price, is there not, for doing good?'

'"Good", sir?' said Captain Chillingworth, struggling to pull himself upright in his chair. 'I am not sure whose good you mean, theirs or ours? Though why I should include myself in your number I cannot think - heaven knows that very little good has come to me from my doings.'

Two bright spots of colour rose to the judge's cheeks as he absorbed this. 'Why, Captain,' he said sharply. 'You do credit neither to yourself nor to us. Is it your implication that no good will come of this expedition?'

'Oh it will, sir; there's no denying that.' Captain Chillingworth's words emerged very slowly, as if they had been pulled up from a deep well of bitterness. 'I am sure it will do a great deal of good for some of us. But I doubt I'll be of that number, or that many Chinamen will. The truth is, sir, that men do what their power permits them to do. We are no different from the Pharaohs or the Mongols: the difference is only that when we kill people we feel compelled to pretend that it is for some higher cause. It is this pretence of virtue, I promise you, that will never be forgiven by history.'

Here Mr Burnham intervened by placing his gla.s.s forcefully on the table. 'Well, gentlemen! We can't keep the ladies waiting till we've solved every problem in the world; it's time we joined them.'

An outburst of relieved laughter broke the awkwardness, and the men rose to their feet and began to file out. Zachary was the last through the door, and he stepped out to find the host waiting for him. 'You see, Reid,' Mr Burnham whispered, placing an arm around his shoulder; 'you see why I'm worried about the Captain's judgement? Much will depend on you, Reid.'

Zachary could not help being flattered. 'Thank you, sir,' he said. 'You can trust me to do my best.'

Mrs Doughty's eyes twinkled as she looked at Paulette, over the rim of her cup. 'Well, my dear!' she said. 'You've certainly worked a bit of jadoo tonight.'

'I pray your pardonne, Madame?'

'Oh, don't think you can play the gull with me!' cried Mrs Doughty, wagging a finger. 'I'm sure you noticed, didn't you?'

'Noticed what, Madame? I do not follow.'

'Didn't you dekko? How he wouldn't touch his ortolans and hardly tasted the foogath? Such a waste! Asked ever so many questions too.'

'Who, Madame?' said Paulette. 'Of whom do you speak?'

'Why, Justice Kendalbushe, of course: you've certainly scored quite a hit there! Couldn't take his eyes off you.'

'Justice Kendalbushe!' cried Paulette in alarm. 'Did I do something wrong Madame?'

'No, you silly bandar,' said Mrs Doughty, tweaking her ear. 'Not at all. But I'm sure you noticed, didn't you, how he jawaub'd the dumbpoke and sniffed at the peac.o.c.k? It's always a sign, I say, when a man won't eat. I can tell you, dear, he was all a-chafe every time you turned to talk to Mr Reid!' She went prattling on, leaving Paulette ever more convinced that the judge had spotted her using the wrong fork or an inappropriate knife, and was sure to report the solecism to Mrs Burnham.

To make things worse, when the door opened to admit the men, the judge headed straight over to Paulette and Mrs Doughty and proceeded to deliver a homily on the subject of gluttony. Paulette pretended to listen although all her senses were focused on Zachary's unseen presence, somewhere behind her. But between Mrs Doughty and the Captain, there was no getting away until the evening was all but over. It was only when the guests were taking their leave that Paulette was able to speak with Zachary again. Despite her efforts to remain collected, she found herself saying, with much greater vehemence than she had intended: 'You will look after him, won't you - my Jodu?'

To her surprise, he answered with an intensity that seemed to match her own. 'You can be sure I will,' he said. 'And should there be anything else I can do, Miss Lambert, you need only ask.'

'You must be careful, Mr Reid,' said Paulette, playfully. 'With a name like Zikri you may be held to your word.'

'And gladly too, Miss,' said Zachary. 'You can call on me for sure.'

Paulette was touched by the sincerity of his tone. 'Oh Mr Reid!' she cried. 'You have already done too much.'

'What have I done?' he said. 'I've done nothing, Miss Lambert.'

'You have kept my secret,' she whispered. 'Perhaps you cannot conceive what that means in this world I live in? Look around you, Mr Reid: do you see anyone here who would for a moment believe that a memsahib could think of a native - a servant - as a brother? No: the worst possible imputations would be ascribed.'

'Not by me, Miss Lambert,' said Zachary. 'You can be sure of that.'

'Really?' she said, looking him full in the eyes. 'It does not seem uncroyable to you that a bond so intimate and yet so innocent should exist between a white girl and a boy of another race?'

'Not at all, Miss Lambert - why, I myself ...' Zachary suddenly began to cough into his fist, cutting himself short. 'I a.s.sure you, Miss Lambert, I know of many, much stranger things.'

Paulette sensed that he had something to add, but now there was a sudden interruption, caused by a thunderous detonation. In the awkward silence that followed, n.o.body glanced in the direction of Mr Doughty, who was examining the k.n.o.b of his cane with an air of pretended nonchalance. It fell to Mrs Doughty to make an attempt to retrieve the situation. 'Ah!' she cried, clapping her hands cheerily together. 'The wind is rising and we must make sail. Anchors aweigh! We must be off!'

Twelve.

Many days pa.s.sed with no word being received about when exactly Neel was to be moved to the jail at Alipore, where convicts were usually sent to await transportation. In the meanwhile, although he was allowed to remain in his former apartment at Lalbazar, the change in his circ.u.mstances was made evident to him in dozens of different ways. No longer was he allowed visitors at all times, and days went by when he met with no one at all; the constables who stood guard at his door no longer exerted themselves to provide him with diversions; their manner, once obsequious, now became gruff and surly; at night they took to chaining his doors and he was not allowed to leave his rooms without shackles on his wrists. No longer was he waited on by his own servants, and when he complained of an acc.u.mulation of dust in his rooms, the constable on guard answered by asking if he would like to be brought a jharu, so he could do the job for himself. If it were not for the mockery in the man's voice, Neel might have said yes, but instead he shook his head: It's just a few days more, isn't it?

Yes, said the guard, with a guffaw of laughter. And after that you'll be off to your in-laws' palace, in Alipore. You'll be nicely looked after over there - nothing to worry about.

For a short while more, Neel's food continued to come from the Raskhali palace, but then, abruptly, it stopped. Instead, he was handed a wooden basin, a tapori of the kind that was used to serve all the lock-up's inmates: looking under the lid he saw that it contained a gruel-like mixture of dal and coa.r.s.e rice. 'What's this?' he asked the constable, and was answered by nothing more than a negligent shrug.

He took the basin inside, placed it on the floor and walked away, resolving to ignore it. But in a while hunger drove him back and he seated himself cross-legged beside the basin and removed the lid. The contents had congealed into a grey slop and the smell made him gag, but he forced himself to scoop up a few grains with his fingertips. As he was raising his hand to his lips, it occurred to him that this was the first time in all his years that he had ever eaten something that was prepared by hands of unknown caste. Perhaps it was this thought, or perhaps it was just the smell of the food - it happened, at any rate, that he was a.s.sailed by a nausea so powerful that he could not bring his fingers to his mouth. The intensity of his body's resistance amazed him: for the fact was that he did not believe in caste, or so at least he had said, many, many times, to his friends and anyone else who would listen. If, in answer, they accused him of having become too tsh, overly Westernized, his retort was always to say, no, his allegiance was to the Buddha, the Mahavira, Shri Chaitanya, Kabir and many others such - all of whom had battled against the boundaries of caste with as much determination as any European revolutionary. Neel had always taken pride in laying claim to this lineage of egalitarianism, all the more so since it was his prerogative to sit on a Raja's guddee: but why, then, had he never before eaten anything prepared by an unknown hand? He could think of no answer other than ease of habit: because he had always done what was expected of him; because the legion of people who controlled his daily existence had seen to it that it happened in that way and no other. He had thought of his everyday routines as a performance, a duty and nothing more; one of the many little enactments that were required by the demands of a social existence, by samsara - none of it was meant to be real; it was just an illusion, no more than a matter of playing a part in the great charade of conducting a householder's life. And yet there was nothing unreal about the nausea that had seized him now; it was not an illusion that his body was convulsed by a sensation of ghrina, a stomach-clenching revulsion that made him recoil from the wooden container in front of him.

Neel stood up and walked away, trying to steady himself: it was clear now that this was not just a matter of a single meal; it was a question of life and death, whether he'd be able to survive or not. Returning to the tapori, he seated himself beside it, lifted a few morsels to his lips and forced himself to swallow them. It was as if he had ingested a handful of burning embers, for he could feel each grain blazing a trail of fire through his entrails - but he would not stop; he ate a little more, and a little more, until his very skin seemed to be peeling from his body. That night his dreams were plagued by a vision of himself, transformed into a moulting cobra, a snake that was struggling to free itself of its outworn skin.

Next morning he woke to find a sheet of paper under his door. It was a notice, printed in English: 'Burnham Bros. announce the sale of a property awarded by a decision of the Supreme Court of Judicature, a handsome residence known as the Raskhali Rajbari ...'

He stared at the sheet in a daze, running his eyes over it again and again. This was a possibility he had not allowed himself to contemplate: the deluge of his misfortunes was such that to protect himself from drowning under them, he had chosen not to inquire too closely into the precise implications of the Supreme Court's judgement. Now, his hands began to shake as he thought of what the sale of the Rajbari would mean for his dependants: what would become of the family's servants and retainers, the widowed female relatives?

And what indeed would become of Malati and Raj? Where would they go? His wife's family home, where her brothers now lived, was not a grand residence, like the Raskhali Rajbari, but it was certainly large enough to accommodate her. But now that she had irretrievably lost caste, along with her husband, there could be no question of her seeking shelter there; if her brothers took her in, their own sons and daughters would never be able to find spouses of their own station. Malati was too proud, he knew, to put her brothers in the situation of having to turn her away.

Neel began to pound upon his chained door. He kept at it until it was opened by a guard. He needed to send a message to his family, he told the constable; some arrangement had to be made to take a letter; he would insist until it was done.

Insist? sneered the constable, waggling his head in derision, and who did he think he was, some kind of raja?

But word must have percolated through, because later in the day, he heard a key turning in the lock. At that hour of the afternoon the sound could only herald a visitor, so he went eagerly to the door, expecting to find Parimal on the threshold - or perhaps one of his gomustas or daftardars. But when the doors swung open, it was to reveal his wife and son, standing outside.

You? He could scarcely bring himself to speak.

Yes. Malati was wearing a red-bordered cotton sari, and although her head was covered, the garment was not draped in such a way as to veil her face.

You've come like this? Neel moved quickly to one side, so she could step out of public view. To a place where everyone can see you?

Malati tossed her head, so that her sari dropped to her shoulders baring her hair. How does it matter any more? she said quietly. We are no different now from anyone on the street.

He began to chew his lip, in concern. But the shame, he said. Are you sure you will be able to bear it?

Me? she said matter-of-factly. What's it to me? It wasn't for my own sake that I kept purdah - it was because you and your family wanted it. And it means nothing now: we have nothing to preserve and nothing to lose.

Now Raj's arm came snaking around Neel's waist, as the boy buried his face in his father's midriff. Looking down at his head, it seemed to Neel that his son had shrunk somehow - or was it just that he could not remember ever seeing him in a coa.r.s.e cotton vest and knee-length dhoti?

Our kites ... are they ... ? He had been trying to keep his tone light and his voice punished him by dying in his throat.

I threw them all in the river, said the boy.

We've given away most of our things, Malati added quickly. Tucking in her sari, she took the jharu from the corner where the guard had left it and set to sweeping the floor. We've kept only what we can take with us.

Take where? said Neel. Where are you thinking to go?

It's all been arranged, she said, sweeping busily. You shouldn't worry.

But I must know, he insisted. Where are you going? You have to tell me.

To Parimal's place.

Parimal's place? Neel repeated the words after her, in bewilderment: he had never thought of Parimal as having a home of his own, other than his quarters in the Rajbari.

But where is Parimal's place?

Not far from the city, she said. I didn't know of it either, till he told me. He bought some land, years ago, with money saved from his earnings. He's going to give us a corner of it.

Neel sank helplessly on to his string bed, holding his son by the shoulders. He could feel the dampness of Raj's tears on his skin now, soaking through his tunic, and he pulled the boy closer, sinking his chin into his thick black hair. Then his own face began to smart and he realized that his eyes had welled up with a substance that was as corrosive as acid, tinged with the bitter gall of his betrayals of his wife and child, and with the bile that came from knowing that he had spent all his years as a somnambulist, walking through his days as if his life mattered no more than a bit-part in a play written by someone else.

Malati put away the jharu and came to sit beside him. We'll be all right, she said insistently. Don't worry about us; we'll manage. It's you who must be strong. For our sakes, if not your own, you have to stay alive: I could not bear to be a widow, not after all this.

As her words sank in, his tears dried on his cheeks and he spread out his arms to pull his wife and son to his chest. Listen to me, he said: I will stay alive. I make you this promise: I will. And when these seven years are over, I will return and I will take you both away from this accursed land and we will start new lives in some other place. That is all I ask of you: do not doubt that I will come back, for I will.

The tumasher for Captain Chillingworth, with all its fuss and gollmaul, was not long in the past when Paulette received yet another summons to the Burra BeeBee's bedchamber. The call came shortly after Mr Burnham's departure for his Dufter, and the wheels of his carriage were still crackling on the conkers of Bethel's drive when a khidmutgar knocked on Paulette's door to deliver the summons. This was not an hour of day which often found Mrs Burnham fully awakened from her nightly dose of laudanum, so it seemed only natural to a.s.sume that the call was of especial urgency, prompted by an unannounced church tiffin or some other unexpected entertainment. But on being admitted to the BeeBee's bedchamber it became apparent to Paulette that this was an occasion truly without precedent - for not only was Mrs Burnham fully awake, she was actually on her feet, skipping prettily around the room, throwing open the shutters.

'Oh Puggly!' she cried, as Paulette stepped in. 'Pray, where have you been, dear?'

'But Madame,' said Paulette. 'I came all-a-sweet, as soon as I was told.'

'Really, dear?' said the BeeBee. 'It seems like I've been waiting an age. I thought for sure you were off to bake a brinjaul.'

'Oh, but Madame!' protested Paulette. 'It is not the bonne hour.'

'No, dear,' Mrs Burnham agreed. 'It would never do to be warming the coorsy when there's kubber like this to be heard.'

'News?' said Paulette. 'There is some news?'

'Why yes, so there is; but we must sit on the cot, Puggly dear,' said Mrs Burnham. 'It's not the kind of thing you want to be gupping about on your feet.' Taking Paulette by the hand, the BeeBee led her across the room and cleared a place for the two of them at the edge of her bed.

'But what is it that has arrived, Madame?' said Paulette, in rising alarm. 'Nothing bad, I hope?'

'Good heavens, no!' said Mrs Burnham. 'It's the best possible news, dear.'

Mrs Burnham's voice was so warm and her blue eyes so filled with fellow-feeling, that Paulette became a little apprehensive. Something was amiss, she knew: could it be that the BeeBee, with her uncanny powers of divination, had somehow uncovered the most pressing of her secrets? 'Oh Madame,' she blurted out, 'it is not about ... ?'

'Mr Kendalbushe?' Mrs Burnham prompted her delightedly. 'Why, how did you know?'

Robbed of her breath, Paulette could only repeat, stupefied: 'Mr Kendalbushe?'

'You sly little shaytan!' said the BeeBee, slapping her wrist. 'Did you guess or did someone tell you?'

'Neither, Madame. I you a.s.sure, I do not know ...'

'Or was it just a case,' continued the BeeBee archly, 'of two hearts chiming together, like gantas in a clock-tower?'

'Oh Madame,' cried Paulette, in distress. 'It is nothing like that.'

'Well then I can't imagine how you knew,' declared the BeeBee, fanning herself with her nightcap. 'As for myself, a talipot in a gale could not be knocked over as easily as I was when Mr Burnham told me this morning.'

'Told you what, Madame?'

'About his meeting with the judge,' said Mrs Burnham. 'You see, Puggly, they had dinner at the Bengal Club yesterday, and after they'd bucked about this and that, Mr Kendalbushe asked if he might broach a rather delicate matter. Now, as you know, dear, Mr Burnham holds Mr Kendalbushe in the highest esteem so of course he said yes. And would you like to hazard a guess, Puggly dear, about what this matter was?'

'A point of law?'

'No, dear,' said Mrs Burnham, 'far more delicate than that: what he wanted to ask was whether you, dear Puggly, might look favourably upon his suit.'

'Suit?' said Paulette, in confusion. 'But Madame, I cannot say. I have no memory of his costume.'

'Not that kind of suit, you gudda,' said Mrs Burnham, with a good-natured laugh. 'Suit of marriage is what he meant. Don't you samjo, Puggly? He's planning to propose to you.'

'To me?' cried Paulette in horror. 'But Madame! Why?'

'Because, my dear,' said Mrs Burnham with a good-natured laugh, 'he is most greatly impressed by your simple manners and your modesty. You have quite won his heart. Can you imagine, dear, what a prodigious stroke of kismet it will be for you to bag Mr Kendalbushe? He's a nabob in his own right - made a mountain of mohurs out of the China trade. Ever since he lost his wife every larkin in town's been trying to bundo him. I can tell you, dear, there's a paltan of mems who'd give their last anna to be in your jooties.'

'But with so many splendid memsahibs vying for him, Madame,' said Paulette, 'why would he choose so poor a creature as myself?'

'He is evidently very impressed by your willingness to improve yourself, dear,' said the BeeBee. 'Mr Burnham has told him that you are the most willing pupil he has ever had. And as you know, dear, Mr Burnham and the judge are completely of a mind in these things.'

'But Madame,' said Paulette, who could no longer control her trembling lip, 'surely there are many who know the Scriptures far better than I? I am but the merest novice.'

'But my dear!' laughed Mrs Burnham. 'That's exactly why you have won his regard - because you're a clean slate and willing to learn.'

'Oh Madame,' moaned Paulette, wringing her hands, 'surely you are pleasanting. It is not kind.'

The BeeBee was surprised by Paulette's distress. 'Oh Puggly!' she said. 'Are you not glad of the judge's interest? It is a great triumph, I a.s.sure you. Mr Burnham approves most heartily and has a.s.sured Mr Kendalbushe that he will do everything in his power to sway you. The two of them have even agreed to share the burden of your instruction for a while.'

'Mr Kendalbushe is too kind,' said Paulette, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. 'And so is Mr Burnham. I am greatly honoured, Madame - yet I must confess that my sentiments are not the same as those of Mr Kendalbushe.'

At this, Mrs Burnham frowned and sat upright. 'Sentiments, my dear Puggly,' she said sternly, 'are for dhobis and dashies. We mems can't let that kind of thing get in the way! No, dear, let me tell you - you're lucky to have a judge in your sights and you mustn't let your bunduk waver. This is about as fine a shikar as a girl in your situation could possibly hope for.'

'Oh Madame,' said Paulette, weeping freely now, 'but are not the things of this world mere dross when weighed against love?'

'Love?' said Mrs Burnham, in mounting astonishment. 'What on earth are you bucking about? My dear Puggly, with your prospects, you can't be letting your shokes run away with you. I know the judge is not as young as he might be, but he's certainly not past giving you a butcha or two before he slips into his dotage. And after that, dear, why, there's nothing a mem needs that can't be cured by a long bath and a couple of cushy-girls. Believe me, Puggly, there's a lot to be said for men of that age. No badmashee at all hours of the night, for one thing. I can tell you, dear, there's nothing more annoying than to be puckrowed just when you're looking forward to a sip of laudanum and a nice long sleep.'

'But Madame,' said Paulette, miserably, 'do you not feel it would be penible to spend one's life thus?'