Free Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh Page A

couldn’t wait to see his ship. Sent the gig for him: he’s in it now, coming over.’
    The pilot’s eyes narrowed as he took in Zachary’s new clothes. There was a moment of silence as he looked him up and down, subjecting his attire to careful examination. Then with a resounding thump of his cane, he announced: ‘Tip-top, my young chuckeroo! You’d put a kizzilbash to shame in those togs of yours.’
    â€˜Glad to pass muster, sir,’ said Zachary gravely.
    Somewhere close by, Zachary heard Serang Ali, hissing: ‘What I tell you? Malum Zikri no pukka rai-sahib now?’

Three

    K alua lived in the Chamar-basti, a cluster of huts inhabited only by people of his caste. To enter the hamlet would have been difficult for Deeti and Kabutri, but fortunately for them, Kalua’s dwelling lay on the periphery, not far from the main road to Ghazipur. Deeti had passed that way many times before and had often seen Kalua lumbering about, in his cart. To her eyes, his dwelling did not look like a hut at all, but had more the look of a cattle-pen; when she was within hailing distance of it, she came to a halt and called out:
Ey Kalua? Ka horahelba?
Oh Kalua? What’re you up to?
    After three or four shouts there was still no answer, so she picked up a stone and aimed it at the doorless entrance of his dwelling. The pebble vanished into the unlit darkness of the hut and a tinkle of pottery followed to tell her that it had struck a pitcher or some earthenware object.
Ey Kalua-ré!
she called out again. Now something stirred inside the hut and there was a deepening of the darkness around the doorway until at last Kalua showed himself, stooping low to make his way out. Following close behind, as if to confirm Deeti’s notion that he lived in a cattle-pen, were the two small white oxen that pulled his cart.
    Kalua was a man of unusual height and powerful build: in any fair, festival or mela, he could always be spotted towering above the crowd – even the jugglers on stilts were usually not so tall as he. But it was his colour rather than his size that had earned him the nickname Kalua – ‘Blackie’ – for his skin had the shining, polished tint of an oiled whetstone. It was said of Kalua that as a child he had shown an insatiable craving for meat, which his family had satisfied by feeding him carrion; being leather-makers, it was their trade tocollect the remains of dead cows and oxen – it was on the meat of these salvaged carcasses that Kalua’s gigantic frame was said to have been nourished. But it was said also that Kalua’s body had gained at the expense of his mind, which had remained slow, simple and trusting, so that even small children were able to take advantage of him. So easily was he duped, that on his parents’ passing, his brothers and other relatives had not had the least difficulty in cheating him of the little that was his rightful due: he had raised no objection even when he was evicted from the family dwelling and sent to fend for himself in a cattle-pen.
    At that time, help had come to Kalua from an unexpected quarter: one of Ghazipur’s most prominent landowning families had three young scions, thakur-sahibs, who were much addicted to gambling. Their favourite pastime was to bet on wrestling matches and trials of strength, so on hearing of Kalua’s physical prowess, they had sent an ox-cart to fetch him to the kothi where they lived, on the outskirts of town.
Abé Kalua
, they said to him, if you were to be given a reward, what would you want?
    After much head-scratching and careful thought, Kalua had pointed to the ox-cart and said: Malik, I would be glad to have a bayl-gari like that one. I could make a living from it.
    The three thakurs had nodded their heads and said that he would get an ox-cart if only he could win a fight and give a few demonstrations of his strength. Several wrestling matches followed and Kalua had won