Amitav Ghosh - The Circle of Reason

Who can tell? Jeevanbhai sighed. I know as little as you do.

I can’t understand it, Das broke in. I can’t understand it at all.

Lal snorted derisively: What don’t you understand? He’s worked out some kind of new money-making racket. That’s all you need to understand. It’s something to do with money.

He looked at Jeevanbhai for confirmation. Jeevanbhai inclined his head politely.

But what should we do now, Jai? said Das. What are our options? What can we do?

Nothing, Lal said drily. There’s nothing we can do. It’s a very tricky situation. We can’t alert the Ghaziri authorities. It would be a disaster if they found out that Indians are involved in this business. They’d probably stop giving new visas to Indian workers. They’ve done that kind of thing before. They might even expel the workers who’re already here. That would mean a drop in remittances, and therefore in the foreign-exchange reserves back home and so on and so forth. If anything like that happened, half the embassy here would be recalled in disgrace, with all their increments docked. We can’t risk anything like that. We’ll just have to try to keep the whole thing quiet, and see what we can do. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll find some way of getting your man out of here and back to India.

Lal looked despondently at Jeevanbhai: Isn’t that true, Patel sahb ?

Yes, said Jeevanbhai. His eyes searched the floor till they found the heavy leather attaché case Lal had brought with him. He looked at Lal expectantly.

Lal lifted the attaché case on to his knees and opened it. But, he said, you’ll keep us informed, Patel sahb , no?

Yes, of course, of course.

Lal took two bottles of Scotch whisky out of his case. Jeevanbhai stretched out his hand, but at that moment Das reached across and tapped Lal’s arm.

Listen, Jai, he said, I want to go to this place — the Ras — and look it over a bit. If possible, I’d like to see this man; see where he’s living and so on. It would give me a more realistic picture, and at least I’d have something for the reports I’ll have to send back home. What do you think?

Lal leant back, with the bottles in his hands, and looked inquiringly at Jeevanbhai: I’m sure you can arrange it, no, Patel sahb ?

Jeevanbhai clicked his tongue in irritation: No. I don’t see how it can be done. How can anyone take an absolute stranger into that place? People would be suspicious at once. I couldn’t guarantee his safety, especially if people found out what his connections are.

Das put the bottles on the floor, beside his chair. Try to think, Patel sahb , he said sharply. I’m sure you can manage something.

Jeevanbhai wiped his forehead with his sleeve. There’s one possibility, he said reluctantly. I can’t take him of course, because the people there are suspicious of me anyway. But there’s a chance that I might be able to persuade Zindi at-Tiffaha to take him. But it’ll take some time, and he’ll have to wait.

Lal nodded: That’s fine; get in touch when it’s arranged. He held the bottles out to Jeevanbhai and smiled: That’s good whisky, Patel sahb . It would cost hundreds of dirhams for a bottle of that here.

Jeevanbhai almost snatched the bottles out of his hands, and locked them away in a drawer. Lal stood up. Patel sahb , he said gravely, we’ll need all your help over the next few weeks.

Jeevanbhai nodded. Then, softly, almost timidly, he said: What about the other thing, Mr Lal?

Other thing? said Lal surprised. What thing?

Don’t you remember? said Jeevanbhai. I was asking you the other day …

Oh, that , said Lal. Oh, yes. We’ll work out something.

Jeevanbhai dropped his eyes and led them through the shop. Lal stopped at the door. Tell me, Patel sahb , he said. You know these people, and this man. What do you think his game is?

Is it a game?

Isn’t it?

You must explain it to me, then. Jeevanbhai smiled at them, very sweetly, and ushered them out with a stoop of his shoulder.

Afterwards, at Lal’s large fifth-floor flat in a newly built residential suburb, they sat on a balcony, surrounded by potted palms and ferns, drinking beer and watching the strung-out lights of tankers at sea. Das was very tired but strangely elated: it was as though in the course of one day he had been forcibly stretched into the calm strength and insights of middle age.

He talked desultorily to Lal about their colleagues in India, while Lal’s slim, pretty wife offered them bowls of cashew nuts and dalmoth. Then a servant called her away to the kitchen, and Lal yawned and shut his eyes. My God, he said, he talked on and on. I thought he’d never stop.

Das nodded and they fell into a tired silence. After a while, Lal said languidly: Tell me, what did you think of our friend Jeevanbhai?

Das sat upright and thought for a moment. I don’t think, he said carefully, that I’ve ever heard anyone talk as marvellously as he did tonight.

Really?

Yes, Das said softly, embarrassed. But tell me, do you think he’s reliable?

Oh, yes. I think so. Besides, he has to be, because otherwise his stock of whisky would dry up. Why?

Nothing really. It’s just that … though he tries to be businesslike and all that, when he actually talks, he’s like a sleepwalker — like a man living in a dream. I wouldn’t trust him — not because he’s dishonest, though he might be — but because he doesn’t seem to be living in this world at all.

Lal laughed: Next you’ll be telling me he’s a bird of paradise.

Das grimaced in embarrassment. Never mind, he said. But what was that business at the end, about the ‘other thing’?

Oh, that. He’s got some idea into his head that he wants to go to India and settle there in a small town and start a shop. He wants citizenship and he wants help getting out of the country. He thinks they may not let him out. The trouble is we need him here; he’s much more useful here.

Lal stretched and stood up. Let’s forget business for a while, he said. Come, I’ll show you an interesting game.

He led Das into their drawing-room. At one end stood a streamlined, steel-blue television set. Beside it, on a stool, was a squat, gleaming, chrome-plated machine, bedecked with knobs and buttons.

Lal switched it on. Geometrical images and the word ‘play’ appeared on the television screen. He watched Das’s surprise with evident delight.

It’s a video game, he said. Cost me two months’ savings. Even the Ambassador hasn’t got one like it.

Of course, he added quickly, it’s for children really. I bought it for my son, Sunil. But it’s fun sometimes, even for us.

He handed Jyoti Das a set of controls. You have to shoot me down, he said, and pressed a button. The images on the screen began to circle confusingly about. Jyoti tried to make sense of it and couldn’t.

Sorry, he said, handing his controls back. I don’t think I’ll be any good at this.

Lal laughed: You’re a washout, yar . Wait, I’ll show you how it’s played.

He went to the door and called out: Sunil. Sunil beta , come and play videos. He had to call out three more times before a wide-eyed, knee-high boy in shorts was pushed into the room by a servant. He stood in the doorway, sucking his thumb.

Come on, beta , Lal cajoled him. Come and show this nice uncle how to play videos. He hasn’t seen one before.

The boy stayed where he was, sucking his thumb. Lal said apologetically to Jyoti: He doesn’t like it much. But he has to learn.

He went up to the boy and said sharply: Come on, beta . Come and play with your video. It cost money.

He pulled the boy’s hand out of his mouth and put a set of controls in it. The boy pressed the wrong button and the image on the screen faded away.