Amitav Ghosh - The Circle of Reason

The others were already running up the embankment, and they followed Abu Fahl down to the car. Nothing had happened to Adil or his cousin, though they both had a bit of glass in their hair. Soon enough they got over the shock and climbed out through the door at the top.

Abu Fahl would have beaten them to a pulp right there, but Zaghloul and Rakesh stopped him. No, they said, we shouldn’t do anything to them ourselves. We’ll take them to Hajj Fahmy and see what he has to say. And so they led them off across the embankment and into the Ras.

And it was only a few minutes after that that their driver stopped his taxi and told them that they would have to walk the rest of the way.

In a way it was the best thing that could have happened. In all that confusion and excitement, it was clear that nobody would have the time to notice who was who, and who was wearing a duster and who wasn’t. So she decided not to waste any more time and led the Bird-man straight to Hajj Fahmy’s house.

There was a huge crowd there already. The news had spread everywhere: Adil al-Azraq had tried to kill Abu Fahl, but Abu Fahl had been too quick for him, and they’d caught Adil and his cousin and taken them to Hajj Fahmy’s to be judged.

She had to use all her strength to clear a path for them through the crowd, holding tightly on to his arm all the while so that he wouldn’t fall and end up being trampled to death. Once, she wondered how this young bird-lover was taking the crowds and the Ras and the excitement; whether he was frightened or nervous.

He wasn’t. The arm she was holding so tightly was perfectly steady, though damp with sweat. He seemed curious, mainly: he was staring all around him, at the crowds, peering into shacks, watching people, looking at the colourful dusters on their arms. It was as though he were watching a film.

Pushing, shoving, thrusting her weight at sharp angles, she managed to clear a way for them right up to the door to Hajj Fahmy’s courtyard. By wriggling a couple of tall Baluchis out of the doorway she managed to get a good view of the courtyard. The crowd had formed a huge circle around the courtyard now. Adil the Blue and his cousin were alone in the middle of the circle, squatting. Someone handed them a couple of cigarettes, and they lit them, and puffed away furiously. But that wasn’t enough for them. They asked for tea. Hajj Fahmy sent a message into the house, and Professor Samuel made a note in his pad, and soon a tray with two glasses appeared.

Zindi pulled the Bird-man in front of her, and held him tight against her chest, so that she could whisper into his ear without anyone else hearing. And then she pointed them all out to him. There was Abu Fahl, his one eye glowing a livid red, his jallabeyya tied around his waist with a scarf, like it used to be when he went into the fields to harvest rice. There was Zaghloul laughing, that laugh which used to drive the girls in his village mad; and there was Rakesh, worrying about his hair, smoothing his shirt. That was Professor Samuel there, worried, nervously fingering the calculator in his breast pocket. And there was Chunni squatting at the edge of the circle and Karthamma, enjoying herself while Kulfi looked after Boss at home. And of course, over there, sitting gravely on the platform, legs folded, next to the loom was Hajj Fahmy, solemnly counting his beads, for all the world like an elder sitting in council to settle a family quarrel.

And Alu?

She pointed him out, at the loom, weaving, his big head turned away from the crowd, ignoring the noise. And when he saw him the Bird-man stared and stared, like a timid falcon sizing up some unusual and frightening prey.

Hajj Fahmy asked Abu Fahl to speak first since he was the one who had been wronged. So Abu Fahl walked into the circle and, like a storyteller at a fair, he began to speak. He described every moment of it — what he had said, and what they had said, and how they drove at him, and how he shattered their windshield. It was masterful; the whole crowd was enthralled. At the end of it the courtyard rang to shouts and applause and the stamping of feet. Abu Fahl, of course, was as pleased as a new bridegroom: he was smiling and grinning so much you’d have thought he’d be happy to forgive Adil al-Azraq for giving him a chance to tell that story.

All through this, Adil al-Azraq and his cousin were sullenly smoking cigarettes and drinking tea in the centre of the courtyard. By the time Hajj Fahmy called on them to speak Adil was grinding his teeth so loud it was like the rattle of stones in a crusher.

Hajj Fahmy called him to the platform and said: What have you to say for yourself?

Adil stood up, with his cigarette in his hand, and went up to Hajj Fahmy. He blew a cloud of smoke straight into the Hajj’s face and said: You’ll find out what I have to say soon enough, you son of a whore. You’ll find out when my men come here tomorrow and tear your rotten old teeth out.

Hajj Fahmy was quite unmoved, but the whole courtyard gasped. Abu Fahl leapt on Adil and sent him sprawling across the courtyard. He would have taken him apart right there if Hajj Fahmy hadn’t gestured to the others to hold Abu Fahl.

The Hajj was quite angry. He pointed his finger at Abu Fahl and said: Who do you think you are? Who gave you the right to fight in my courtyard? Do you think this is a market? There won’t be any fighting in my house.

Abu Fahl was furious, too; there were at least six men holding him and you could see they weren’t finding it easy. He shouted at Hajj Fahmy: I didn’t do anything to them at the embankment even though they tried to kill me. The others said we should bring them here, and I let them. But now that they’re here do you think I’m going to let them threaten us? Do you think I’m going to let them go? Just like that?

Hajj Fahmy looked at him very coldly and said: Since you can’t control yourself, you should let other people think about these things.

He held up his hand and looked around the courtyard. No one spoke. The Hajj said: We won’t have any fighting or beating here. But, still, it is true — these men are dirty. They’ve dealt in dirt so long you can see it caked on their skin. Fighting and beating won’t do them any good. What they need is a bath.

A bath? everyone said.

Yes, said Hajj Fahmy, a bath. A good proper bath, with lots of antiseptic to kill all the dirt that’s clinging to them. They’ll bathe themselves — we won’t do anything but watch quietly — and then they can go.

He sent a message to his wife, and soon she sent out four buckets. They were all full of water that was milky with antiseptic. Someone carried the buckets and two mugs to the centre of the circle and put them in front of Adil and his cousin. And then the crowd drew back.

Adil the Blue and his cousin were alone now, in the middle, each with their two buckets of water and a mug in front of him. The courtyard was so silent you could hear the waves breaking on the beach, in the distance.

And Alu?

Alu? Alu wasn’t weaving any longer, but he wasn’t watching, either. He was looking in front of him, totally bewildered. You had only to look at him to know that the whole thing was beyond him now. He could no longer understand what he’d started.

At first Adil and his cousin looked at the buckets and from them to Hajj Fahmy, in complete disbelief. Then Adil let out a loud, sneering laugh and shouted: Do you think Adil al-Azraq, who’s given you all work for the last fifteen years, has suddenly become a child that you’re going to make him bathe in public?

Hajj Fahmy looked straight at him, without blinking and without speaking. Adil and his cousin turned to their left and to their right and they laughed again, as though they wanted to share a joke with the crowd. Look, they said, he’s a mad old man — he’s lost his mind.