You would not believe how helpless, indeed desperate, some of them are: why, just the other day, a fat old fellow came waddling after me in his sleeping gown and positively begged me to become his footman. Why no, sir, said I, drawing myself to my full height. I am the King’s man and would not dream of serving anyone else.
I find endless amusement in watching the scenes that pass between the fanquis and the linkisters (who take it in turns to sit under a tent in the Maidan, right opposite my window). The linkisters have been instructed to address all our complaints and inquiries, and they are beset by fanquis at all times of day and night: Mr A. has dirtied his shirt and wants it to be sent to the dhobi; Mr B. is enraged because he has not received his daily ration of spring water; Mr C. has split his pantaloons while sweeping the floor and will not rest until the rent is sewn up by a tailor; Mr D. demands a basket of oranges and Mr E. swears that his rooms have been invaded by rats, and all his foodstuffs have been carried away, so he must instantly be given three hams and five loaves of bread. Now Mr F. arrives, in a great sweat, and declares he has seen a calf wandering through his corridor; he promises that if it happens again he will let fly with his blunderbuss, consequences be d-d; then comes Mr G. to complain of being insulted by a company of guardsmen; he swears that if the offenders are not suitably chastised he will annihilate them all with his whangee. To all this the linkisters listen with infinite patience, only breaking in to say from time to time: ‘Hae yaw? How can do so? Mandarin too muchi angry, make big-big bobbery…’ They are the most good-natured of fellows and do their utmost to hide their amusement.
One of the few merchants whose establishment has remained intact through this time is Mr Bahram Moddie, the Seth from Bombay (he travels in his own ship and is thus able to take his staff wherever he goes). Mr Moddie has been one of the greatest losers in the surrendering of opium (more than a tenth of all the chests are said to be his), and he is so downcast that he seldom emerges from his private quarters – even Zadig Bey, who is one of his oldest friends, hardly ever sees him any more.
But Mr Moddie’s staff are a lively bunch, and through these last few weeks they have held a kind of open house, welcoming everyone who wants to eat at their table. I cannot tell you what a boon this has been to me, Puggly dear, for they have a peerless khansama and the food is unfailingly excellent – not till I ate at their table did I realize how much I miss my dholl and karibat!
The company too is most congeniaclass="underline" Mr Moddie’s purser goes by the name of Vico and he is a jolly kind of fellow, always thinking of amusing ways to ‘time-pass’ (he has been away lately, supervising the transfer of Mr Moddie’s opium to the authorities, and is much missed). Mr Moddie’s munshi is an intriguing, rather mysterious man: he is a Bengali and claims to be from Tippera – but his Bangla accent speaks of a pure-bred Calcuttan, although he will not on any account admit this. (Speaking of Calcuttans I happened to mention to him that a Calcutta-born Miss, by the name of Paulette Lambert, was in the vicinity – and I swear, my dear Ranee of Pugglipur, that your name could not have been unknown to him. At the sound of it he turned quite pale, or at least as pale as his complexion would allow!)
Amongst those who frequent Mr Moddie’s kitchen there are several Parsis and one of them is a most fetching young man by the name of Dinyar Ferdoonjee. We were thinking one night of things we might do to keep ourselves entertained and it occurred to me to suggest that we stage a play – and before we knew it, there we were putting on ‘Anarkali: The Doomed Nautch-Girl of Lahore’ (as you may know, Puggly dear, this was my mother’s favourite role, and I have always dreamt of playing it).
I wish I could tell you, my sweet cherie, how much fun we had! I made all my own costumes and the munshi took the role of the cruel old Emperor and played it exceedingly well (I must say, for a mofussil munshi he is rather well-informed about courtly etiquette). And Dinyar made a most splendid Jahangir, a perfect foil for my Anarkali: he is an excellent singer and dancer so I put in a couple of new songs, which we sang while chasing each other around a tree (it was just a pillar, of course). Such a grand old time did we have that Dinyar says that when he gets back to Bombay he will start a theatre company!
Dinyar is indeed a whirlwind of energy. One day he saw some Englishmen playing cricket in the Maidan and succeeded in persuading them to teach him this game (he says he has seen it being played by the British in Bombay, but it is impossible for a native to learn it there, since they are not allowed into the right clubs). Dinyar has become so proficient at the game that he has now taught it to several other Achhas and a week or two ago they actually challenged the British Hong to a match. But at the last minute they found themselves a man short – and you may not believe it, my dear Pug-wugs, but it was none other than your poor Robin who was dragooned into making up the deficit!
I need hardly tell you, Puggly dear, that I loathe most games and none more than cricket. But I could hardly refuse my Jahangir, especially when he put his arms around me and cajoled me in the most beseeching tones. He promised besides that he would keep me out of harm’s way and for the most part it passed off quite peacefully: for the life of me I don’t know how people can abide this game – nothing ever seems to happen (the Chinese guardsmen, I might add, were astonished by the goings-on and some of them even asked if we were being paid to run after the balls – they could not conceive of why else we would, which speaks rather well for them I think). But there came a moment when I heard everyone shouting ‘Catch, Robin, catch!’ I looked up at the sky and what should I see but a nasty little ball absolutely hurtling in my direction. My first thought was to run away of course, but I couldn’t very well do that since I had my back to the cattle-pen. So I stood my ground and did what Jacqua had taught me to do – I emptied my mind of everything but the object of my desire… and lo! I managed somehow to snatch the vile little projectile out of the air! It was apparently a great thing to have done for it was the other side’s leading batsman who had struck it – so to me went the credit of seizing not just his ball but also his wicket, thereby bringing victory to the Achhas. Dinyar was hugely chuffed and has sworn that he will set up a cricket club for natives when he returns to Bombay – and I do hope he does. Can you imagine, my dear Puggly, how very funny it would be to watch bands of Achhas racing around in the hot sun in pursuit of each other’s balls and wickets?
But you must not think, Puggly dear, that all my time has been spent on frivolities – it could scarcely be so when one is living under the roof of so high-minded a person as Charlie King! He would be mortified to hear me say so (for he is the most modest of men) but I am convinced that he is indeed a great man – for it does take greatness, I think, to stand resolutely against your own people, especially when you are alone, and especially when you know that even history will not be kind to you, since you will have forever given the lie to all the claims with which the High and the Mighty will try to exonerate themselves.
Oddly enough, I do believe that the only person who truly appreciates Charlie’s courage and honesty is the High Commissioner. But perhaps it is not surprising that this should be so – for I suspect Commissioner Lin is in a position not dissimilar to Charlie’s. His measures have not been universally popular, even among the Chinese, and I am told that he has made legions of enemies for himself. There are a great many people in this province who have grown rich on opium and I am sure they must revile the Commissioner just as so many of the fanquis revile Charlie. This perhaps is the bond between them: in a world where corruption and greed are the rule, they are both incorruptible – and it is not surprising that this should be hateful in the eyes of their peers.