Death to the Landlords

clerk, general factotum, travelling servant, he was everything in one undersized, anxious body.

In reality Sushil Dastur was not by any means so fragile as at first he appeared, but he was short, and seemed shorter because he was always hurrying somewhere, head-down, on his master’s business; and the amount of prominent bone that showed in his jutting brow and slightly hooked nose contrasted strongly with the plump smoothness of the Manis, making him look almost emaciated. His brow was usually knotted in a worried frown above his large, apprehensive dark eyes, and his manner was chronically apologetic. Curly dark hair grew low on his forehead. Subservience had so far declassed and denatured him that it seemed appropriate he should always wear nondescript European jackets and trousers of no special cut, in a self-effacing beige colour. On the rare occasions when he appeared in an achkan he looked a different person.

‘Looks like being old home week, all right,’ Larry remarked glumly. For nothing was more certain than that all these people would be heading for the Periyar Lake in time for the early watering the next morning. There was nowhere else for them to be going in these parts. From the coast as from Madurai, from the west as from the east, the roads merely led here and crossed here; and few people passed by without halting at the lake to go out by boat and watch elephants. Other game, too, with luck, sambur, deer, wild boar, occasionally even leopard and tiger, though these last two rarely appeared; but above all, elephants, which never failed to appear, and in considerable numbers. ‘You know, without wanting to seem intolerant, I’d enjoy my cruise more without the Mani commentary.’

‘We could have a small private boat, if you wish,’ said Lakshman tentatively. ‘But it would cost more, of course.’

‘Could we?’ Larry perceptibly brightened. ‘They have small launches there, too?’ He looked at Dominic. ‘How about it? We’ve stuck to our shoe-string arrangements so far, what about plunging for once?’

‘I’m willing. Why not?’

‘I’ll go and telephone, if you really wish it,’ offered Lakshman. ‘It would be better to make sure.’

‘Yes, do that! Let’s indulge ourselves.’

The advantage, perhaps, of being a shoe-string traveller, is that you can, on occasion, break out of the pattern where it best pleases you, and do something unusually extravagant. The thought of having a boat to themselves, and all the huge complex of bays and inlets of the lake in which to lose the other launches, was curiously pleasing. Even on a popular Sunday they might be able to convince themselves that they were the only game-spotters in the whole sanctuary. Dominic was whistling as he reached into the back of the Land-Rover for his towels and washing tackle.

It was at that moment that the two clear, female voices began to approach through the darkness from the direction of the gate, and there emerged into the light from the windows two girls, one Indian and dark, one English and pallidly fair, carrying nets of green oranges and bunches of rose-coloured bananas in their arms.

Two pairs of eyes, one pair purple-black, one zircon blue, took in the Land-Rover and its attendant figures in a long, bright, intelligent stare.

‘Well, hullo!’ said the fair girl, in the bracing social tone of one privately totting up the odds. ‘You must be the outfit that passed us just down the road, when we were haggling for this lot. Staying over? I thought they were full up.’

‘They are,’ said Dominic. By this time he was well aware that Larry never responded to any overtures, especially from females, until he had had time to adjust, and to review his defences. Some girl must once have done something pretty mean to him, and all others had better step delicately. ‘We sleep out in the moke. But yes, we’re staying.’

‘We came up by the bus. No use going on to the hotel, until tomorrow, anyhow,’ she said simply. ‘We couldn’t afford to stay here, and it was too late for this afternoon’s cruise when we got here. I suppose you’ll be heading for the lake tomorrow morning?’ Her eyes flickered thoughtfully towards the Land-Rover again; he didn’t blame her for taking thought for the morrow, public transport was liable to be both unreliable and, on a Sunday, overcrowded. But she didn’t ask, not yet. It was too early, and she wasn’t going to be as crude as all that. As for the Indian girl, she stood a little apart, cool and still, watching them with a thoughtful and unsmiling face.

‘So will everyone around, I imagine,’ Larry said cautiously.

‘You’re American, aren’t you?’ she said, interested.

‘That’s right. My name’s Preisinger, and this is Dominic Felse – he’s English. As I think you must be.’

‘Not much good trying to hide it, is it?’ She shook her pale locks and laughed. ‘I’m Patti Galloway, and this is my friend Priya Madhavan. If I had the colouring I’d like to sink myself into the background, and all that, but I decided long ago that it was no good. Priya’s from Nagarcoil, we’re making our way there gradually, and taking in the sights on the way. Where are you heading?’

‘Oh, south. Down to the Cape, and then by Trivandrum and Cochin back to Madras. Dominic drops off at Madras. After that I don’t know yet.’

Her eyes had opened wide. ‘You must have a lot of time to spare. What do you do? Have you been working here? Or do you live here all the time?’ She was restlessly full of questions, but there was something artless and disarming about her directness; and if it was disconcerting that she waited for no answers, at least that gave Larry time to make up his mind. Why not, after all? Lakshman was just coming out from the arcaded porch with a slight, contented smile that said he had been successful, and there would be a private boat for them tomorrow. And the girls had their own plans, which apparently involved the family of one partner, and therefore were hardly likely to be changed as the result of a chance meeting like this. He could afford to be generous without any risk of getting in too deeply.

‘We were just going to sneak in and cadge a shower, as a matter of fact, before eating. If you two are on your own, and would care to join us, we should have a boat of our own for tomorrow morning. Why don’t we eat together and fix everything up over the meal?’

The furniture of the bungalow’s public room was of the simplest, but there were two tables, chairs enough and electric lighting that flickered alarmingly at times, but survived; and the khansama’s omelettes were good, and the fruit from the stall fresh and excellent. Since the tables were of the same size, it was natural to break up the guests into two equal parties of five; and that made it easy for the first on the scene – and inevitably that was Lakshman – to appropriate one of them for his employer’s party and his employer’s guests. Whether he approved of the addition of the girls to their number there was no way of knowing; his manners, as always, were graceful and correct.

Patti watched the other parties assemble with wide-eyed curiosity. Sudha Mani swept in wreathed in a nylon sari (‘Not at all practical,’ Priya said critically, ‘synthetics slip terribly, and don’t drape like live fabrics.’) and a great