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By Root 1182 0

turns to sit under a tent in the Maidan, right opposite my window). The linkisters have been instructed to address all our complaints and inquiries, and they are beset by fanquis at all times of day and night: Mr A. has dirtied his shirt and wants it to be sent to the dhobi; Mr B. is enraged because he has not received his daily ration of spring water; Mr C. has split his pantaloons while sweeping the floor and will not rest until the rent is sewn up by a tailor; Mr D. demands a basket of oranges and Mr E. swears that his rooms have been invaded by rats, and all his foodstuffs have been carried away, so he must instantly be given three hams and five loaves of bread. Now Mr F. arrives, in a great sweat, and declares he has seen a calf wandering through his corridor; he promises that if it happens again he will let fly with his blunderbuss, consequences be d–—d; then comes Mr G. to complain of being insulted by a company of guardsmen; he swears that if the offenders are not suitably chastised he will annihilate them all with his whangee. To all this the linkisters listen with infinite patience, only breaking in to say from time to time: ‘Hae yaw? How can do so? Mandarin too muchi angry, make big-big bobbery …’ They are the most good-natured of fellows and do their utmost to hide their amusement.

One of the few merchants whose establishment has remained intact through this time is Mr Bahram Moddie, the Seth from Bombay (he travels in his own ship and is thus able to take his staff wherever he goes). Mr Moddie has been one of the greatest losers in the surrendering of opium (more than a tenth of all the chests are said to be his), and he is so downcast that he seldom emerges from his private quarters – even Zadig Bey, who is one of his oldest friends, hardly ever sees him any more.

But Mr Moddie’s staff are a lively bunch, and through these last few weeks they have held a kind of open house, welcoming everyone who wants to eat at their table. I cannot tell you what a boon this has been to me, Puggly dear, for they have a peerless khansama and the food is unfailingly excellent – not till I ate at their table did I realize how much I miss my dholl and karibat!

The company too is most congenial: Mr Moddie’s purser goes by the name of Vico and he is a jolly kind of fellow, always thinking of amusing ways to ‘time-pass’ (he has been away lately, supervising the transfer of Mr Moddie’s opium to the authorities, and is much missed). Mr Moddie’s munshi is an intriguing, rather mysterious man: he is a Bengali and claims to be from Tippera – but his Bangla accent speaks of a pure-bred Calcuttan, although he will not on any account admit this. (Speaking of Calcuttans I happened to mention to him that a Calcutta-born Miss, by the name of Paulette Lambert, was in the vicinity – and I swear, my dear Ranee of Pugglipur, that your name could not have been unknown to him. At the sound of it he turned quite pale, or at least as pale as his complexion would allow!)

Amongst those who frequent Mr Moddie’s kitchen there are several Parsis and one of them is a most fetching young man by the name of Dinyar Ferdoonjee. We were thinking one night of things we might do to keep ourselves entertained and it occurred to me to suggest that we stage a play – and before we knew it, there we were putting on ‘Anarkali: The Doomed Nautch-Girl of Lahore’ (as you may know, Puggly dear, this was my mother’s favourite role, and I have always dreamt of playing it).

I wish I could tell you, my sweet chérie, how much fun we had! I made all my own costumes and the munshi took the role of the cruel old Emperor and played it exceedingly well (I must say, for a mofussil munshi he is rather well-informed about courtly etiquette). And Dinyar made a most splendid Jahangir, a perfect foil for my Anarkali: he is an excellent singer and dancer so I put in a couple of new songs, which we sang while chasing each other around a tree (it was just a pillar, of course). Such a grand old time did we have that Dinyar says that when he gets back to Bombay he will start a theatre company!