British -- India -- Fiction; India -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
Nevertheless a skeleton lay hidden under Shunker Dâs's mountain of
prosperous flesh; a gruesome skeleton whose bones rattled ominously.
Between him and the perdition of a sonless death stood but one life; a
life so frail that it had only been saved hitherto by the expedient of
dressing the priceless boy in petticoats, and so palming him off on
the dread Shiva as a girl. At least so said the _zenana_ women, and so
in his inmost heart thought Shunker Dâs, though he was a prime
specimen of enlightened native society. But on that day the fateful
first decade during which the Destroyer had reft away so many
baby-heirs from the usurer's home was over; and amid countless
ceremonies, and much dispensation of alms, the little Nuttu, with his
ears and nose pierced like a girl's, had been attired in the _pugree_
and _pyjamas_ of his sex. Hence the crowd closing in round the Lâlâ's
Calcutta-built barouche which waited for its owner to come out. Hence
the number of professional beggars, looking on the whole more fat and
well-liking than the workers around them, certainly more so than a
small group of women who were peeping charily from the door of the
next house,--a very different house from Shunker Dâs's pretentious
stucco erection with its blue elephants and mottled tigers frescoed
round the top storey, and a railway train, flanked by two caricatures
of the British soldier, over the courtyard doorway. This was a tall,
square, colourless tower, gaining its only relief from the numerous
places where the outer skin of bricks had fallen away, disclosing
the hard red mortar beneath; mortar that was stronger than stone;
mortar that had been ground and spread long years before the word
"contractor" was a power in India. Here in poverty, abject in all save
honour, dwelt Mahomed Lateef, a Syyed of the Syyeds;[1] and it was his
hewers of wood and drawers of water who formed the group at the door,
turning their lean faces away disdainfully when the baskets of dough
cakes, and trays of sweet rice were brought out for distribution from
the idolater's house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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