“An interpreter!” John exclaimed. “That's ideal! I must see if it can be arranged.”
They worked on it. Wood told his father the situation, and his responsibility in the matter, while John made a clean breast of his concern to his professor. Stone agreed that there was perhaps an aspect of duty involved, and the professor preferred not to be embarrassed by a faulty recommendation. Subtle strings were pulled, and in due course Wood was approved as an additional translator and deputy for the posting. This was to Orissa, the district just southwest of Bengal. Wood was familiar with it, having ridden and hunted often enough in that direction. Despite its proximity, it was relatively undeveloped, densely populated along the coast, with no train lines passing through it, and much of it was accessible mainly by horseback. A Britisher unfamiliar with the terrain and language would certainly have trouble getting along there.
They took the coach to the provincial capital of Cuttack, where they obtained horses from the local stable for the ride to the country. All along the way, Wood pointed out significant aspects of the geography and the inhabitants, while John responded with aspects of Victorian England. Queen Victoria herself, he said, just wasn't the same since her consort Prince Albert died, but the country and empire as a whole were doing well. One preposterous yet interesting thing he had learned about in college was the radical and perhaps heretical theory promoted by one Charles Darwin, that all living creatures were somehow related, having propelled themselves forward from lesser origins by a process called evolution. “I don't believe it, of course,” John confided. “Yet I must say, I enjoy seeing the clerics outraged. Imagine man actually descending from the apes!”
Wood had to laugh. Such a notion would certainly offend the churches, both Catholic and Church of England. And it did have a certain tempting rationale. He had often wondered just where man had come from, and an instant creation from whole cloth didn't quite satisfy him. Evolution from apes? What a jolly heresy!
John, as subdivision officer, duly reported to his deputy commissioner to be given his assignment in the field. Wood stood behind him, expecting a good deal of harrumphing and considering before being told that they would accompany an experienced officer to learn the ropes. The reality was startlingly different.
“You're it, eh? Strap on your pistol and come with me.” The commissioner marched out of the building, leading them to another house where a number of natives stood waiting. “This is your court,” the commissioner announced, gesturing to a table. “These are your assistants.” He indicated four turbaned, bearded men wearing dhoti, untailored cloth wound around the waist and legs. “Now get to work.”
John was taken aback, understandably. “To work, sir?”
“You didn't come here to sleep, did you? Clean up this mess so you can move on to your next station.” The commissioner marched away.
John took his seat in the rattan chair at the end of the table. Wood went quietly to stand behind him. No one challenged this arrangement; these were after all two British gentlemen. John did know the procedure; he had described it to Wood. He just hadn't expected to be thrust so suddenly into it, with no testing period or detailed instructions.
The peshkar, or “bringer-forward” clerk, snapped out words so rapidly that Wood knew John couldn't understand them. But this was what he was here for. “He says these are the cases on Your Honor's file, and what are your orders?” Wood translated quietly.
“Let's get on with it,” John said briskly in English, as if merely not deigning to use the native dialect. He was putting up a suitable British front, and he was good at it; the assistants were impressed.
The peshkar looked at his papers and spoke rapidly again. Wood realized that the man was probably doing it deliberately, hoping to embarrass the new officer without actually being disrespectful. But that wouldn't work in this case, because Wood understood perfectly. “The clerk is reading out the first case,” he murmured in John's ear. “The clerk has considerable power, because he decides the order in which cases come forward. You can of course overrule him if you feel he is being unfair.”
“I know that,” John murmured back somewhat edgily. “What's the case?”
“The prisoner is accused of stealing thirty stalks of sugarcane, worth about one penny, from a field in the night. There are witnesses to testify.”
“Ah,” John said, relieved. He proceeded to try the case, being duly satisfied that the man was guilty, and assigning a suitable penalty. This aspect he understood; it was only the swiftly spoken native dialect that confused him.
So it continued. There was a seemingly endless list of chores which, taken as a whole, were at best dull. Occasionally Wood's ready translation enabled John to pick up on an irregularity that the clerk might have hoped to slip through, and John quickly corrected it. It was evident that he was making a good impression.
As the day waned, John called a halt. “We will resume tomorrow morning,” he announced. “See that the papers are in order.”
The clerks bowed respectfully and departed with their papers. John stood and entered the main part of the house. “Where the hell's the privy?” he asked Wood. “I'm ready to burst.”
Wood smiled. He had not realized, and so surely the clerks had not. John had seemed like an iron man, a machine dispensing justice.
They found the privy. Then John lay down on the bed to rest. “Tell the cook we'll eat in an hour,” he said.
Wood did so, and also ordered a man to pull the punkah cord. This cord passed through a hole in the wall and was attached to a framework with a damp blanket above the bed; the cord made this move back and forth, generating a cooling draft. He also directed another servant to pull off His Honor's shoes and socks. Such personal services, he explained to John, were standard when the British were on duty among the natives. John pretended to be at ease with them, despite his preference in doing for himself, so as to make the proper impression. Wood sat in the nearby chair and rested himself.
He was of course not John's servant, but they had discussed this and decided that it would be easier if he appeared to be so, or at least a lieutenant who spoke for the senior officer. That way John would seldom have to attempt the native dialect, and could seem to ignore what was addressed to him so that his lieutenant could relay it with proper form. His ignorance would be covered by his seeming arrogance. So he was putting on a show at the moment, demonstrating his complete command of the situation—as Wood had quietly suggested. Impressions counted for a lot, and the lack of arrogance could be taken as weakness.
So it went. In three days John wrapped up the caseload at this station. Wood had to admit he was good at it; the man was a natural administrator. Perhaps his professor had selected him for that rather than for the seeming finesse with language. Wood was learning already, preparing for the time when he himself would return to India to do similar work.
Now they went out on the circuit. They were equipped with horses and guns and servants and clerks and even an armed escort. They would live in tents during the tour, and inspect everything from roads and bridges to police stations and records of field and crop allocations. This was, by British standards, roughing it, but it was a far easier haul than that of the servants.
They traveled about ten miles to a suitable campsite near the village and made camp. For the next two days they rose at dawn to ride out on inspection, covering a school, a sanitation site, a disputed court case from the prior month, and the vital patwari's papers. These formed the basis for all land revenue—that was to say, taxes—and were extremely important and sensitive. Late each morning they returned to bathe in the tin tub behind the tent, and dry with towels hung over the tent ropes. There was nothing like a sun-warmed towel! Then a big meal serving as breakfast and lunch. In the afternoon there were petitions and new court cases to be heard, including disputes arising from the morning's inspection. John did his best to be fair, and Wood's accuracy with the language enabled him to grasp the nature of each case quickly. It showed here, too:
John was making an excellent impression.
The late afternoon and evenings they had to themselves. They rode out hunting, searching out quail, partridges, peacock and hares. Peasants appeared unasked, and made themselves useful by beating the bushes for game. “I know the natives don't love us,” John murmured. “Why are they volunteering?”
“They want your attention,” Wood replied. “They aren't on the official lists, perhaps being out of favor, but they have concerns. It is best to treat them with courtesy, to make a good impression.”
“To be sure.”
“They may demur, at first, but they do want service,” Wood said. “You will have to ask them more than once. It is the protocol.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
After bagging several quail, which were eagerly fetched and brought in by the peasants, John addressed the matter. “I say, can I do anything for you chaps?”
“Oh, no, sahib! We just want to help.”
“Come now. You have done me a service; perhaps I can do you one. It is only fair, after all. What's on your mind?”
“Your Honor, my brother—he was horribly beaten last night, for stealing a hammer, but he was innocent.” Wood murmured a continuous translation, so that John seemed to understand directly.
“Who did steal the hammer?” John asked briskly.
“Nobody, Your Honor. It was misplaced, and was found an hour later.”
“There are witnesses to attest that it was never stolen?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Bring your brother to my court tomorrow, and I will make it right.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, sahib!”
So it happened. The man was not on the clerk's list, but Wood kept an eye out for him and brought the man and his brother personally to the head of the line. John entered a judgment against the beaten man's master and ordered that the man be given two days of rest with pay. This the clerk duly noted; it would be done.
One problem was that many farmers were unable to make their full tax allotments, because the monsoon rains had been low that summer, and the crop correspondingly poor. Fortunately there were reserves of grain to carry them through. John settled it fairly: “Your tax shares will be reduced this year, but correspondingly raised next year to make up the difference, assuming that the weather improves.” They were satisfied with that; next year was far away.
But privately John was concerned. “Does this happen often? Suppose there's low rainfall next year, too?”
“There would be a famine,” Wood said seriously. “But there's no need to worry; there hasn't been a famine since 1801.”
“Nevertheless, it isn't good to deplete the margin. We must make sure that the reserves are restored.”
At the third village the local patwari's papers were in good order, and the verification was relatively easy. The man's name, approximately translated, was Whittler, and he issued an invitation to the officer to do him the honor of coming and dining at his house. This caught John by surprise. “Allow me a moment to consider,” he said. “Is this regular?” he quietly asked Wood.
“Not exactly. Such invitations are made, but normally declined, because of the potential for abuse.”
“Abuse?”
“The host normally proffers a valuable gift. This might be considered a—”
“A bribe! We'll have none of that!”
“But in Indian culture it is standard. In the past, I understand some officers have accepted such gifts, enriching themselves.”
“Well, I shall simply decline any such gift.”
“That would be awkward to do. It's part of the ritual. You might give the impression that you had taken offense, or that the gift was unworthy. It would be better simply to avoid the whole thing by declining the invitation.”
“Well said.” John returned to the patwari. “I regret that my business prevents me from accepting your kind offer, but I thank you for it.”
The patwari did the unusual thing of repeating the offer. “But we would so very much like to have you!” Wood translated.
John hesitated. “The truth is, I don't want to make a fool of myself; I don't know the nuances. But he strikes me as a good man, and I don't want to distress him. I suspect there is something he wants to broach unofficially, and I doubt it is ill intended. Is there an alternative?”
Wood pondered. “I suppose you could delegate me to attend in your stead. I wouldn't mind a good Indian meal.”
“But the gift—”
“Maybe we could give them a gift ourselves. This isn't usual, but they wouldn't refuse it, and it might balance things out.”
“Excellent. What do we have?”
“There is some nice jewelry I brought from Calcutta. I had thought to trade it for something, if I saw anything I wanted, but there's no need. I might present it to his wife.”
“Note its value, and we'll try to get you reimbursed.” Then he returned to the patwari. “I remain unfortunately busy, but my second officer can speak for me. If you care to extend your invitation to him—”
The man was happy to do so. So Wood fetched his jewelry and rode home with the patwari. There was indeed an unofficial concern. “The auguries are poor,” the man said. “I fear that the harvest next year will be bad, and I am concerned for the people here. I do not wish to alarm anyone, however. If such a thing occurs, do you suppose grain could be shipped in from a more distant region?”
“I will ask the officer about that,” Wood said. “Certainly we would not wish to be caught unaware.” He remembered that John had already spoken of restoring the reserves, so this was an easy promise to make.
“Perhaps I worry unduly. But I would feel easier if I knew that preparations were being made, just in case.”
“This seems sensible to me, and I'm sure my superior will agree.” Quite sure.
“But I would not care to burden my family with such an apprehension.”
“Understandably. I shall not mention it again tonight.”
“Your understanding is much appreciated.” The man hesitated. “If I may make a personal remark . . .”
“Be welcome, no offense taken.”
“You seem unusually conversant with our customs and language, for an Englishman, considering your age.”
Wood laughed. “My father has been stationed in Calcutta for a dozen years. I grew up here, and learned the local ways. I regard India as my home.”
“Yet others have grown up in such manner, and not been interested in our ways.”
“I confess to being somewhat of a rogue among my kind. I do feel more at home, sometimes, with the people of India than among the spoiled children of the empire.”
“I never heard you use the word ‘black’ in all your dialogue and translations these past two days of our business, even during the trying times.”
Wood looked at his tanned arms, then at the patwari. “I suppose there is a difference of color. I think too much is made of it.”
“We Hindus are accustomed to the strictures of caste. Color becomes another caste.”
“I do not care to discuss my differences with the system of castes, lest I become offensive. I am to that extent an Englishman.”
“Your philosophy seems consistent to me.”
They rode on, and soon arrived at the patwari's house. This was made of stone and wood, with a thatched roof, and was fairly large, because the servants’ rooms were part of it. The patwari's mother, wife and daughter came out to greet them, three generations. They wore flowing formal dresses made from khadi, the hand-spun, handwoven cloth of India.
“This is Heaven-sent Sahib Stone, lieutenant to Sahib Duncan, who was unable to attend,” the patwari said, introducing Wood to his family. “This is my mother, the widow Ember, my wife Crystal, and my daughter Ginger Flower.” The three women bowed to Wood as they were introduced. The elder was stately with her bound hair and conservative white dress, her green eyes reminding him of his grandfather Blaze. The middle woman was comfortable in qu
iet blue. The young woman was comely in a golden jacket and green skirt, with lustrous dark hair.
“I am pleased to meet three such charming women,” Wood said. He met their gazes, briefly, in turn. The eldest woman seemed to have a slight affliction of one cheek, perhaps a consequence of age. But when he came to Ginger, something passed between them. It was as if a small spark jumped, and her face was illuminated by it, becoming abruptly beautiful. As if he had just met the woman he was destined to love. As if he had known her before. Déjà vu, inexplicable yet gloriously powerful.
Wood shook himself, and Ginger blinked, evidently suffering a similar confusion. No one else, he hoped, had noticed this curious connection.
“Now allow me to present you with a token of our esteem,” the patwari said. He brought out a fine hunting pistol in its case.
Wood was taken aback. He had expected a gift, but not one of this value. The family circumstance could have been seriously reduced to afford the purchase of such a weapon. It must have been obtained with the expectation that the officer himself would attend, instead of his lesser assistant. “Oh, I could not accept—”
“Ah, but we insist,” the patwari said graciously. “It is a symbol of the regard in which we hold you and the service you represent and the empire of England.”
Wood could not decline a gift phrased in that manner. Reluctantly he accepted the pistol. Then he brought out the jewelry he had brought. “I regret I have nothing to offer that even approaches the value of what you have given me,” he said. “But allow me to present your mother with this bauble.” He held up the pearl necklace. It was of course far more than a bauble, but still not of the level of the pistol.
“Jewelry is not for withered old women,” the widow protested. “Give it to my daughter instead.”
Wood turned to the patwari's wife. But she, too, protested. “When would I wear such a fine necklace? Give it to my daughter.”
Isle of Woman (Geodyssey) Page 45