Amitav Ghosh - The Circle of Reason

But his voice followed her: Zindi! Tell them I’ll meet them at the Star. Tell them they have nothing to worry about. We’ll win this time.

At six in the morning the telephone shattered Jyoti Das’s thirty-two hours of sleep. The telephone was on a low table beside his bed. He tried to open his eyes and found them gummed together. Turning over he fumbled blindly around till his fingers touched the cold plastic of the sleek digital telephone, and found the right button. The electronic bleating stopped. He had no idea how long it had been making that noise; the sound had seemed to grow out of his sleep. It could have been hours.

Hullo? he said into the plastic flap which opened out of the receiver. His throat felt like clotted sand.

Hullo? Das? He recognized Jai Lal’s voice, crackling with urgency.

Yes, he said. He prised his eyes open with his fingers. The heavy curtains that he had drawn across the plate-glass windows yesterday were glowing, with the first morning light behind them.

Das? Jai Lal said. Listen.

Yes? said Das.

I’ve got something to do in your part of the town. It’s important. I’ll stop by your hotel on the way. It might interest you, too.

All right, Das said. Jai Lal disconnected before he could say anything else.

Stretching his arm out to put the phone back, he could feel an almost painful stiffness in his joints. The crumpled sheets of his bed had left their impression on his skin over the last day and a half; his arm was marbled over with wrinkles. He hadn’t slept through all of the thirty-two hours, of course. Twice yesterday he had gone down to the hotel’s restaurants. He had even thought of going out for a walk once, but when he reached the revolving glass doors which sealed the steamy Ghaziri air out of the hotel his resolution had failed him. He had looked through the glass at the swirling traffic, at the entrails of unfinished buildings festooned across the skyline, and the flow of people with their inexplicable nationalities, and all he had wanted was to get back into bed, back to peaceful, orderly sleep. He had meant to ring up Jai Lal but hadn’t got around to it; sleep had claimed him first. Besides, Jai Lal had made it clear that he was busy and wouldn’t be able to shepherd him around any longer.

But now he had to hurry to be ready for Jai Lal. He made his way unsteadily to the bathroom.

By the time Jai Lal knocked, he had shaved, changed and even ordered breakfast. Jai Lal, looking grim, forced a smile when he opened the door.

Hullo, Jai, hullo, Das said. Come and sit. I’ve just ordered breakfast — do you want some?

Breakfast? Jai Lal gaped at him in astonishment. Yar , this is urgent; I didn’t come to have breakfast.

Das grimaced. Sorry, he said. I was just asking. What’s the matter?

Jai Lal glanced around the room. Haven’t you got a radio or something? he asked.

Das pointed to a knob set in a perforated panel next to the bed. Jai Lal turned it and the hotel’s piped music tinkled out of the panel.

Sorry, said Lal. There’s no need really — it’s just a habit. I even do it at home sometimes.

There were two low chairs, upholstered in imitation leather, near the window. Das took one and gestured at the other.

What’s the matter? he said. What’s so urgent?

Jai Lal kept standing. I can’t sit now, he said. I just came to tell you: Jeevanbhai Patel has been taken in by the local security people. It happened early this morning — or, rather, very late last night. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I may be able to find out soon. One of their security people, a Pakistani who I know a bit, rang up this morning. He didn’t say very much except that Jeevanbhai had said, during an interrogation, that I might be willing to stand bail for him. Don’t know what gave him that idea, and I don’t know what else he’s said. It could be quite tricky. He wants me to go there as soon as possible. Of course bail doesn’t have anything to do with it; it could hardly be anything bailable. Anyway, I’m going there now to find out. I thought I’d keep you informed, because I think — I’m not sure, but I think — it may have something to do with your friend, the Suspect. Something he said gave me that impression.

Das nodded thoughtfully. So, then, he said, do you think their security knows about the whole thing now?

Jai Lal shrugged: I don’t know. Maybe. I thought of taking you along, but the thing is I know this chap, and he might talk to me a little. He wouldn’t if someone he didn’t know was there, too. Anyway I’ll come back and tell you all about it.

Fine; I’ll wait here.

Jai Lal went to the door and opened it. I’ll be back as soon as I can, he said, and hurried away.

Das sat down to wait. Soon a waiter brought him his breakfast. Das looked at him curiously; he seemed Indian. He was a young man, with sandy skin and very dark hair.

Are you from India? Das asked him in Hindi.

The waiter grinned shyly and scratched his head. Yes, sahb , he said.

From where exactly?

From Sundernagar.

Sundernagar? Where’s that?

The waiter was surprised: You don’t know Sundernagar, sahb ? How’s that? It’s a district headquarters. It’s in Himachal, at the foot of the Dhauladhar Range.

Das bit his lip, embarrassed by his ignorance. It must be cold there, he said, up in the mountains.

Arre han sahb , he said. It’s very cold. There’s always snow on the Dhauladhar. All the greatest rivers in the world start there — the Beas, the Suketi. You should see them; they could sweep away a place like this.

Oh? said Das. And where do you live? In the hotel?

No. I and some friends — they’re mechanics, electrical, all from Sundernagar — we share a room.

In the Ras al-Maktoo? Das prompted.

No, sahb . He was quite indignant. Our room’s a long way from that place.

Das was oddly relieved. He called the waiter back as he was going out, and gave him half a dirham.

After finishing his breakfast, he tried to read a magazine, but his feet took him to his bed, and he lay down. Jai Lal would probably take longer than he’d expected, he thought as his eyes closed.

He had hardly shut his eyes, it seemed to him, when a knock woke him. In fact it was almost midday and he had been asleep for more than four hours.

Jai Lal’s clothes were crumpled and there were large dark patches under his armpits. Were you sleeping or what? he said sharply, his urbanity a little frayed, when Jyoti Das opened the door. I’ve been knocking for five minutes.

Sorry, Das said. He almost added ‘sir’.

Why’s this room so dark? Jai Lal said. He went to the window and drew the curtain back. Das flinched from the sudden burst of light, but Jai Lal did not notice. He sank into one of the chairs near the window and wiped his face with his handkerchief.

Das turned the music on again. So? he said. What happened?

Jai Lal pulled a face: God, it’s so hot out there. I was really tired by the end of it. It would take too long to tell you all about it. I’ll just sum up the main points. It appears that they’ve been watching Jeevanbhai Patel for quite a long time now. That’s because he was fairly deeply involved in the old regime. In other words, he was quite close to the old Malik of Ghazira. After this regime came into power, they banned him from going to the Old Fort, where the Malik lives. But apparently Jeevanbhai used to get in there every now and then — how, nobody knew. The security people had some idea of his doings, because they had a source placed quite close to him. But they didn’t know anything concrete. Now very late last night, at about three or four in the morning, they had information from their source that he was on his way there again. The source thought it was something serious this time.