'Yes, Reid? What did you want to talk about?'
'It was about our position, sir,' said Zachary. 'When I looked at the charts today, I had the feeling that we had strayed quite a long way eastwards.'
The Captain shook his head. 'No, Reid – we're exactly where we should be. In this season there's a southerly current off the Andamans and I thought to take advantage of it; we'll stay on this tack for a while yet.'
'I see, sir, I'm sorry. If you'll forgive me…'
'Yes go, go.'
Crossing the cuddy, Zachary felt none of the unsteadiness that accompanies inebriation; his movements were slow, but in no wise irregular. Once inside his cabin, he took off his banyan and trowsers and stretched out on his bunk in his underclothing. On closing his eyes he lapsed into a state of rest that was far deeper than sleep, and yet also more awake, for his mind was filled with shapes and colours: although these visions were extraordinarily vivid they were utterly tranquil, being untroubled by sensuality or desire. How long this state lasted he did not know, but his awareness of its waning started when faces and figures entered his visions again. He fell into a state of dreaming, in which a woman kept approaching and receding, keeping her face hidden, eluding him even though he knew her to be tantalizingly close. Just as he was becoming conscious of a distant ringing sound, the veil fell away from her face and he saw that she was Paulette; she was coming towards him, walking into his arms, offering him her lips. He woke to find himself drenched in sweat, dimly conscious that the last chime of the eighth bell had just sounded and that it was his watch next.
A marriage proposal being a sensitive affair, Deeti had to be careful in picking a time and place where she could discuss the matter with Heeru without being overheard. No opportunity arose until early the next morning, when the two women happened to find themselves alone on the main deck. Seizing the moment, Deeti took Heeru's elbow and led her to the jamna devis.
What is it, Bhauji?
It wasn't often that anyone paid Heeru much attention, and she began to stammer in apprehension, thinking she'd done something wrong and was in for a scolding: Ká horahelba? Is something wrong?
Under the cover of her ghungta, Deeti smiled: There's nothing wrong, Heeru – to tell the truth, I am happy today – áj bara khusbáni. I have some news for you.
News? What news? Ká khabarbá? Heeru dug her knuckles into her cheeks and whimpered: Is it good or bad?
That's for you to decide. Listen…
No sooner had Deeti started to explain than she began to wish she'd chosen some other venue for this talk, some place where they could have dropped their ghungtas: with their faces covered, it was impossible to know what Heeru was thinking. But it was too late now, she would have to go through with it.
When the news of the proposal had been conveyed in full, she said: Ká ré, Heeru? What do you think: tell me?
Ká kahatbá bhauji? What can I say?
From the sound of her voice, Deeti knew she was crying, so she put an arm around her, pulling her into a huddle: Heeru, don't be afraid; you can say what you like.
Several minutes passed before Heeru could speak, and even then it was in a sobbing, disjointed rush: Bhauji… I hadn't thought, didn't expect… are you sure? Bhauji, they say in Mareech, a woman on her own will be torn apart… devoured… so many men and so few women… can you think what it would be like, Bhauji, to be alone there… Oh Bhauji… I never thought…
Deeti could not figure out where exactly this was heading. Ágé ke bát kal hoilé, she said sharply. You can talk about the future tomorrow. What's your answer for now?
What else, Bhauji? Yes, I'm ready…
Deeti laughed. Arre Heeru! You're a bold one!
Why do you say that, Bhauji? said Heeru anxiously. Do you think it's a mistake?
No, said Deeti firmly. Now that you've decided, I can tell you: I don't think it's a mistake. I think he's a good man. Besides, he has all those followers and relatives – they'll look after you. You'll be the envy of everyone, Heeru – a real queen!
It was not unusual for Paulette, when going through her washing, to come upon a shirt, banyan, or pair of trowsers that she recognized as Zachary's. Almost unconsciously, she would slip these garments to the bottom of her pile, saving them for the last. When she came to them, depending on her mood, she would sometimes subject them to an angry scrubbing, even beating them upon the deck-planks, with all the vigour of a washerwoman at a dhobi-ghat. But there were times also when she would linger over their collars and cuffs and seams, going to great lengths to scrub them clean. It was in this fashion that she was cleaning a shirt of his one day when Baboo Nob Kissin Pander appeared at her side. Goggling at the garment in her hands, he said, in a furtive whisper: 'I do not wish to trespass into your preserves, Miss, but kindly may I inquire if that shirt belongs to Mr Reid?'
Paulette answered with a nod, whereupon he said, even more furtively: 'Just for one minute can I feel?'
'The shirt?' she asked in astonishment, and without another word, the gomusta snatched the damp twist of cloth from her and pulled it this way and that before handing it back. 'Seems he has been wearing from times-immemorial,' he said with a puzzled frown. 'Cloth feels extremely aged. Strange, no?'
Although Paulette was by now well-accustomed to the gomusta's oddities, she was puzzled by this cryptic statement. 'But why is it strange that Mr Reid should have old clothes?'
'Tch!' The gomusta clicked his tongue, as if mildly irritated by her ignorance. 'If avatar is new, how clothes can be old? Height, weight, privates, all must be changing, no, when there is alteration in externalities? Myself, I have had to buy many new clothings. Heavy financial outlay was required.'
'I don't understand, Nob Kissin Baboo,' said Paulette. 'Why was that necessary?'
'You cannot see?' The gomusta's eyes grew even rounder and more protuberant. 'You are blind or what? Bosoms are burgeoning, hair is lengthening. New modalities are definitely coming to the fore. How old clothes will accommodate?'
Paulette smiled to herself and lowered her head. 'But Baboo Nob Kissin,' she said, 'Mr Reid has not undergone such a change; his old clothes will surely suffice for a while yet?'
To Paulette's astonishment, the gomusta responded with startling vehemence: his face seemed to swell in outrage, and when he spoke again, it was as if he were defending some deeply cherished belief. 'How you can make such sweeping-statements? At once I will clear this point.' Thrusting a hand through the neckline of his flowing tunic, he pulled out an amulet and unrolled a yellowing piece of paper. 'Come here and see.'