River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [253]
Dinyar is indeed a whirlwind of energy. One day he saw some Englishmen playing cricket in the Maidan and succeeded in persuading them to teach him this game (he says he has seen it being played by the British in Bombay, but it is impossible for a native to learn it there, since they are not allowed into the right clubs). Dinyar has become so proficient at the game that he has now taught it to several other Achhas and a week or two ago they actually challenged the British Hong to a match. But at the last minute they found themselves a man short – and you may not believe it, my dear Pug-wugs, but it was none other than your poor Robin who was dragooned into making up the deficit!
I need hardly tell you, Puggly dear, that I loathe most games and none more than cricket. But I could hardly refuse my Jahangir, especially when he put his arms around me and cajoled me in the most beseeching tones. He promised besides that he would keep me out of harm’s way and for the most part it passed off quite peacefully: for the life of me I don’t know how people can abide this game – nothing ever seems to happen (the Chinese guardsmen, I might add, were astonished by the goings-on and some of them even asked if we were being paid to run after the balls – they could not conceive of why else we would, which speaks rather well for them I think). But there came a moment when I heard everyone shouting ‘Catch, Robin, catch!’ I looked up at the sky and what should I see but a nasty little ball absolutely hurtling in my direction. My first thought was to run away of course, but I couldn’t very well do that since I had my back to the cattle-pen. So I stood my ground and did what Jacqua had taught me to do – I emptied my mind of everything but the object of my desire … and lo! I managed somehow to snatch the vile little projectile out of the air! It was apparently a great thing to have done for it was the other side’s leading batsman who had struck it – so to me went the credit of seizing not just his ball but also his wicket, thereby bringing victory to the Achhas. Dinyar was hugely chuffed and has sworn that he will set up a cricket club for natives when he returns to Bombay – and I do hope he does. Can you imagine, my dear Puggly, how very funny it would be to watch bands of Achhas racing around in the hot sun in pursuit of each other’s balls and wickets?
But you must not think, Puggly dear, that all my time has been spent on frivolities – it could scarcely be so when one is living under the roof of so high-minded a person as Charlie King! He would be mortified to hear me say so (for he is the most modest of men) but I am convinced that he is indeed a great man – for it does take greatness, I think, to stand resolutely against your own people, especially when you are alone, and especially when you know that even history will not be kind to you, since you will have forever given the lie to all the claims with which the High and the Mighty will try to exonerate themselves.
Oddly enough, I do believe that the only person who truly appreciates Charlie’s courage and honesty is the High Commissioner. But perhaps it is not surprising that this should be so – for I suspect Commissioner Lin is in a position not dissimilar to Charlie’s. His measures have not been universally popular, even among the Chinese, and I am told that he has made legions of enemies for himself. There are a great many people in this province who have grown rich on opium and I am sure they must revile the Commissioner just as so many of the fanquis revile Charlie. This perhaps is the bond between them: in a world where corruption and greed are the rule, they are both incorruptible – and it is not surprising that this should be hateful in the eyes of their peers.
Whatever the reason, there can be no doubt that there is indeed a bond between Commissioner Lin and Charlie. The Commissioner has even issued a public commendation to Charlie and it was for a while posted all around Fanqui-town (you can imagine the effect of this on Mr Dent and his ilk!).
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