'And just because those biological correlates aren't transmitted by sexual reproduction, it doesn't mean that they can't be transferred between individuals by other methods. And that's where Mangala comes up to bat. Remember that she started at the deep end, by stumbling upon the process of transmission, rather than the chromosome itself – after all she didn't know what a chromosome was. No one did back then. Remember that it was malaria that led her to it. Remember that one of the extraordinary things about the malaria bug is that it has the capacity to 'cut and paste' its DNA – unlike any creature we know of except the trypanosome. Remember that's one of the reasons why it's been so hard to develop a malaria vaccine. Because what's special about the malaria bug is that as it goes through its life cycle it keeps altering its coat-proteins. So by the time the body's immune system learns to recognize the threat, the bug's already had time to do a little costumechange before the next act.
'Perhaps what Mangala chanced upon was just this: that the malaria bug, because of its recombinatory powers, can actually digest this bit of DNA by splitting it up and redistributing it. Then, when it's reintroduced in a patient whose bloodlbrain barrier's been made spongy, perhaps it can carry the information back and make some tiny little rewirings in the host's wetware.
'I reckon that once she stumbled on the process she dropped everything else and began to concentrate on refining it – in two directions. One was in trying to figure out some way of side-stepping the syphilis step. And the other was in trying to stabilize the chromosome during the process of transference. Because what was happening till then was that the bug was breaking it up in the weirdest ways and she wanted to be able to control the kinds of traits that were being transmitted.
'It's my guess that by about 1897 Mangala had run into a dead end, and she'd come to the conclusion that the existent strains of malaria wouldn't let her go any further. That's why she was so desperate to have Ronnie figure the whole thing out and publish it. Because she actually believed that the link between the bug and the human mind was so close that once its life cycle had been figured out it would spontaneously mutate in directions that would take her work to the next step. That was what she believed, I think: that every time she reached a dead end, the way ahead was by provoking another mutation.'
Pushing away her empty plate, Urmila said: 'How?'
'By trying to make certain things known.'
'So did she succeed?' she asked.
Murugan smiled. 'I think we're going to find out.'
'How?'
'My guess is that that's what this experiment is about.'
'But why in this way? Why not…?'
'Don't you get it?' said Murugan. 'She's not in this because she wants to be a scientist. She's in this because she thinks she's a god. And what that means is that she wants to be the mind that sets things in motion. The way she sees it, we can't ever know her, or her motives, or anything else about her: the experiment won't work unless the reasons for it are utterly inscrutable to us, as unknowable as a disease. But at the same time, she's got to try and tell us about her own history: that's part of the experiment too.'
'Why are you talking about her as if she was still alive?' said Urmila. 'Are you really trying to say that she is? That she somehow managed to…?'
Murugan smiled. 'Well,' he said. 'What do you think?'
Crossing her arms, Urmila hugged herself, suddenly cold. 'I don't know what to think,' she said. She took hold of the booth's curtain and tweaked it back.
The moment she looked into the cabin, everything seemed to stop; it was as though everyone in the room had turned to stare – the other customers, the waiters, the dishevelled college students at the next table – as though they had been waiting all along to see her face.
She pushed the curtain quickly shut.
'But what about Lutchman?' she said. 'Nothing you've told me proves any connection between Mangala and Lutchman. For that matter who was Lutchman? What was his past?'
'You've got me there, Calcutta,' Murugan said. 'That's where I keep coming up short. All I have is bits and pieces – no beginning, no middle and definitely no end.'
'Give me examples,' said Urmila. 'What are these bits and pieces you're talking about?'
'Farley's letter is the main source,' said Murugan. 'Farley says there was another guy working with Mangala at Cunningham's lab. He seems to have been about the same age as Lutchman and he fits the same general profile.'
'That's not much to go on,' said Urmila.
'That's true,' Murugan acknowledged, 'except that a couple of references in the letter seem to suggest that this assistant was the same guy who turned up at Ross's door on May 25 1895.'
'Like what?' said Urmila.
'Well, one thing we know about Lutchman, from another source, is that he was digitally challenged – that is, his left hand was missing a thumb. It doesn't seem to have made any difference to his manual skills. He was probably born that way, because his index finger seems to have retrained itself to do the thumb's job… '
Something stirred in Urmila's mind, a distant memory.
'What's up?' said Murugan. 'Why're you frowning?'
She bit her lip: 'I thought I'd remembered something, but I can't place it. Anyway, go on. Does Farley say anything about the assistant's hand?'
'Nothing explicit,' said Murugan. 'But there's a sentence where he says: "he was surprisingly deft given the circumstances". Something like that, anyway. My guess is that the "circumstances" he's referring to had something to do with the guy's hand.'
'Is that all?' Urmila said in disappointment.
'There's just one other thing. At the end of the letter Farley said that the assistant had been using an assumed name.'
'So what was his real name then?'
'I wish I knew,' said Murugan. 'But I don't. Farley didn't mention it in his letter. He left Calcutta the same day he posted the letter. He was seen boarding a train at Sealdah Station and a young man who fits the assistant's description was carrying his luggage. They were also seen getting off the train together later, at a deserted little station. Farley was never seen again. A few months later, in May 1895, "Lutchman" walked into Ronald Ross's lab in Secunderabad.'
'That could just be a coincidence,' said Urmila.
'Could be,' said Murugan. 'But there's another coincidence left to account for.'
'Yes?'
'It's just this,' said Murugan. 'I've established from a different source that Lutchman's name wasn't a real name either.'
'What was it?' said Urmila. 'Laakhan.' said Murugan.
Urmila's hands flew to her mouth. 'Tell me,' she said. 'Quick: what was the name of the station where Farley and the assistant were last seen?'
'Renupur,' said Murugan.
She stared at him soundlessly.
Murugan took hold of her hand and shook it. 'Hey, wake up,' he said. 'What's up?'
'It's just that I think I may be able to fill in a part of the picture,' Urmila said.
'How come?'
'Last night I went home with Sonali-di and she told me something: a story she'd heard from her mother, about something that happened to Phulboni many years ago.'
Chapter 38
IN 1933, SOON AFTER he got his first and only job, Phulboni was sent on a trip to the remote provincial town of Renupur.
Phulboni was working for a well-known British firm, Palmer Brothers, which made soaps and oils and other household goods. The company was famous for its extensive distribution network, which reached into the smallest towns and villages. Every new recruit to the company had to spend a couple of years travelling within a region, visiting village shops, getting to know the local merchants, sitting in tea-stalls, visiting fairs and fairgrounds.