Orissa

By Alberto Rueda

There are certain books that are not like the others. Books that contain more than a handful of related pages linked only by the excuse of coherence. Writings that beat under their tinted cardboard shell, harboring feelings so warm that the reader often has the feeling of consuming them under his own skin.

Orissa is one of those books. A colorful and captivating literary walk that will immediately transport you to colonial India in the early twentieth century. There you will live a beautiful, enigmatic and exciting story in which the conjuration and ambition merge with intense and close feelings. Orissa is able to defoliate in the alternation of its narrative torrent the visceral and the sensual, the raw and the delicate, the most entrenched hatred and unconditional love. Let Orissa return your passion for reading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alberto Rueda
• Release date: Jan 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393588283

Book preview

PART II

And the night said to the moon:

"Companion, shine brighter,

that although I have your light inside of me

I’m still cold and dark as I’ve always been."

An unconditional believer

Being honest, I have to admit that my patience is beginning to end, Father Dumont, warns Lord Britton, running his fingertips over the wall to see if the paint adheres to them.

Sitting in front of him, Monsignor Dumont thinks about how little he wanted to receive his visit today. And much less when the governor comes in that plan, demanding results that he had in no way committed.

I already warned you that what you were asking for was a slow and progressive process, explains the bishop. People’s faith is not won overnight. You have to work within their mind, order the pieces that shape it and with them model their behavior. Also, are you forgetting that I continue to officiate in that miserable temple because you are not able to finish my new church at once?

Yes, yes, I understand all that, Lord Britton acknowledges reluctantly. "But you must keep in mind that my endurance has a limit. I am aware that you have space limitations and that temple is starting to get small. However, lately you give me the impression that you are more concerned with the outcasts of that pariah than with your own affairs. ‘Our’ own affairs, really, he reproaches him, annoyed at the bishop’s attitude. What that boy does or does not do is an issue that does not matter to me at all, so I will not tolerate him interceding in our plans. And, of course, don’t use him to justify your inability to grow your herd more quickly."

I would swear it was you who brought it up this time, says Monsignor Dumont, who is not used to receiving such severe accusations.

The governor growls in disgust. He will not allow the bishop to continue walking through the branches while his entire project crumbles before his eyes.

I have done it because I have already grown tired of enduring your whining, he snapped bluntly. Focus once on doing your job well or this company will go to hell, and we with it.

But the bishop is not willing to bear the responsibility of, in his opinion, bad planning of the governor. If he believed that simply snapping his fingers half a population was going to be converted to Christianity he was ridiculously wrong. Now he must assume his share of guilt and not point to him as solely responsible for the slow development of the plan.

I remind you that I asked for your help to get rid of the florist and refused to grant it to me. As a result, the boy left the abbey, turned his back on his religion and ended up marrying her. As you can guess, it was a setback that is having its consequences.

I refused nothing. I refused what you asked me because killing a girl before her menarche borders on the insane. There are continually people around us wanting to fulfill such orders, but you turn to me, who held a notorious charge and I can see my career ruined in a sigh.

If I came to you, it was because I thought you had professionals at your side who could handle the matter. Obviously, to get into the suburbs and look for the homeless person who looks worse, I don’t need you.

Okay, let’s do a self-containment exercise both of us and don’t become too alarmist.

It is not alarmism. That boy’s resignation to our doctrine and his marriage to a person from another caste has raised dust, even within our circles of influence. And that, of course, apart from making us lose followers, personally is wearing me physically and emotionally. I loved that boy like a son.

The governor approaches, thoughtfully, to the table and scrapes its surface with the nail. Obviously, the bishop’s drama regarding his relationship with the boy brings him carelessly, but he cannot allow it to harm them.

It is clear that it is not too late for you to regain your credibility. But yes, you have to take the right steps.

That’s exactly the attitude I adopt, although I don’t know why you insist on clinging to pessimism. The maharaja has just given his approval to the merchant’s daughter, something essential for our purpose to start. And we have not had to stain our hands with the blood of his princess, which is also appreciated. As soon as Aysha gives him his first boy we can liquidate him and the doors of the kingdom will open wide for us.

So it is. But remember what needs to be done when a member of the body becomes gangrenous, says Lord Britton, returning to the problem of the appearance of a fugitive in the congregation.

Cut through the unaffected part, as close as possible to dead tissue.

Exactly. And as soon as possible, to prevent the infection from spreading. If death reaches the blood flow, it will end up contaminating the vital organs and the subject in question will inevitably die.

Lord Britton’s metaphor comparing them to the organs of the human body makes the prelate wonder if he will see himself as the brain and, in that case, with what other organ will identify him. Although thinking about it, he prefers not to know.

Look for the right person to do the job you wanted to ask me, Lord Britton advises. Someone you can trust, who works motivated by the greatness of his spirit and not his pockets.

Monsignor Dumont suddenly remembers the devout character he found sitting on the benches of his chapel. He prayed with a dedication that prevented him from paying attention to what was going on around him. Since that day he had noticed him. Not a single mass he missed, confessed daily and often made good donations. Without a doubt, he was just what he was looking for: an unconditional believer in a hurry to earn eternal glory and certain doses of sadism.

Now that I think about it, I think I have the right person.

Do not tell me! All right! It seems that it was not so difficult and that, after all, you didn’t need my help either.

Actually, I would need a small favor.

Come on, don’t bother me!

We must entertain the boy for a few days to clear the ground. Then we will attack the fawn, which little can do to escape being alone and unprotected.

The governor frowns at the new request of the religious.

Surprise me... How does it concern me?

Well, I’d appreciate it if you could give me some idea on how to keep the boy away from his spiritual muse for at least a month. If you have any, I’m all ears.

The leader chews his lip looking for options. He would not have the slightest interest in helping the bishop if it were not to get something in return, so, although camouflaged, that must be his main premise.

Well, I think something has occurred to me, says Lord Britton, taking a seat next to him. Judging by his face, he seems to be contemplating a possibility at least quite helpful.

Already? The bishop asks, surprised. This guy will not be very smart, but it is undeniable that his thinking flows fast.

Well, it’s just an idea, as you say. It is probably not the best, but, given the pressing circumstances, one can start from it and see how far we are allowed to mature. You tell me if you like it.

Shoot, then.

The British consul in Darjeeling is a good friend of mine since he arrived in India, a few years ago, the governor begins, carefully bashing his ideas to avoid making unnecessary commitments. On one occasion he invited me to the consulate and showed me his majestic tea plantations. Imagine, hundreds of peasants striving to carefully pick up the delicate and fresh leaves to satisfy palates as refined as yours and mine.

Although it comes from the governor, Monsignor Dumont loves to hear about anything related to tea. Especially if it is of the best quality.

From time to time, the leader continues, the consul sends me some lot so that I can taste the fruits of his work and I can assure you that they are of category. The next time I receive one, I may have the opportunity to invite you to my office to enjoy it with me.

The bishop then wonders why Lord Britton always strives to offer him whiskey, knowing that he is a great fan of such an exquisite infusion. In the end, as always, he prefers not to waste more time trying to decipher the personality of the British and decides to focus his efforts on more productive things.

The poor consul, as you might suppose, is practically isolated from the world, there on the cold slopes of the Himalayas. Any supply that he requests must pass through the import control post of the port of Calcutta, where it will arrive by ship from its particular place of origin. As you can imagine, not all articles that face these controls can be considered, say, legal, and it depends on several factors that they are transferred or confiscated by an agent. One of the functions of my position is to ensure that the requests of the consul are part of that first group.

Monsignor Dumont has the feeling of getting lost following the explanations of the governor. He does not find the association between what they were trying and the bad practices he has repeatedly given him for confessing to him. Although, at this point, he is not surprised by one thing or the other. "Bribe the customs agents so that the consul can receive illegal items? Very typical of someone with the right authority to do it." The bishop is increasingly clear about where the funds destined for the governance of the region that Lord Britton receives from the United Kingdom will end.

Mr. Britton, I think I don’t follow you...

Yes, yes... the governor mumbles back in his chair. What I am saying is that we could entrust that kid with the delivery of one of those orders that has arrived earlier this week and still awaits in my warehouses to be sent.

A messenger, huh?

The bishop begins to be interested in the idea of ​​Lord Britton.

Yes, the governor confirms, knowing he has hit the spot again. Naturally, I don’t need your boy to dispatch the order, but this will keep him away for a couple of months. If we have the round trip, calculate that you will have more or less that margin. I think you will have plenty of time to hunt down your fawn, right?

Monsignor Dumont seems pleased at the governor’s idea. Two months is more than enough time to act without stress or rush. In fact, he can let some time pass before doing anything and that way no one will relate the governor’s order to the girl’s death. Monsignor Dumont knows that justice in the country is so stupid that it always looks for the closest possible motive to crime, ignoring some much stronger evidence just because it happened before. They do not bother to dive in the timeline and that is something to take advantage of.

Do you think it’s okay then? Asks Lord Britton again at the apparent passivity of the religious.

I think so, he finally agrees.

The leader opens a drawer of his desk and removes a sheet and an envelope with the regional government letterhead and the monarchical shield. Checks that it is not damaged and give it to the bishop.

Go on, cover this and give it to the boy to take it with him to the consulate, says the governor, leaving both objects in front of him. Put what you want, send a box of scented leaves with a scent of quince or something. What you write does not matter, so take the opportunity to get something that you want. In two days there will be a wagon in the door of the building, in which the cargo will go and some people related to other diplomatic matters that the boy obviously has no competence to deal with. Make sure he is here early in the morning to leave with them.

Here he will be, says Father Dumont, shaking the governor’s hand with satisfaction.

Neither without a name nor with it

Nightmares have been installed on his head for days as if a large spider had sneaked into it to establish its nest and dedicated itself with an expert hand to weave his bad dreams. Sometimes, when the spider is slow making its web, Narayan manages to doze for a couple of hours in a row, but then it finishes its work and wakes up sweaty, lying on a flooded floor, absorbed in a reality as immaterial and illusory as his own thoughts.

He no longer eats and barely drinks. Moisture clings to his bones as hard as the shackles on his wrists. He feels very cold. He has probably been suffering from high fevers for several days and red rashes have appeared on his skin with very bad appearance. Having spent his childhood in the sewers, accustomed to similar conditions, is the only thing that helps him stay alive. But then it wasn’t like now. He remembers that those days saved his will to live. Now nothing makes sense to him.

His mind floats in the mist that surrounds him. The images come to his head as coyly dragged by the zephyr. He sees the flower girl smiling radiantly under the sun’s rays at her market stall. He sees the beggar, two guards who stop him and imprison him. Then the delicate breeze suddenly becomes a hurricane and the images pass by before him, volatilizing in a vacuum in which everything becomes ethereal. The Nameless Kid has not spoken for days, they may have changed his gallery. Or perhaps the guards have grown tired of his impertinence and removed him from the way, just as they have been doing with other much less daring inmates. That poor Nameless Kid had been tempting fate for a long time.

In Narayan’s thinking, the cell cleaner now takes shape. He sees him laugh with a sarcastic grin. His face twists in a spiral mixing his features as if it were a canvas of fresh paint.

"Look, I told you to take care of yourself," says the man through an immense grimace. Then the man takes a large bucket of water and throws it on his naked body. He contracts with a violent spasm and begins to shiver with more force than before. The water is freezing.

"Come on, man, wake up! Urges the mouth of the cleanser from the center of the hypnotic facial spiral. Up there is someone who wants to see you."

The man taps a pair with his boot on Narayan’s arm seeking a reaction, but the young man lies on the ground without strength, semi-unconscious.

Fuck, I’ve always asked you to keep your cell clean, but I didn’t mean to do it all over. What is the use then of not having to clean the floor if I have to clean you?

The man takes off his clothes and throws another good bucket of water over him. Then rub the buttocks and legs with his old clothes and set them aside.

Wait for me to bring you something decent so you can wear it, the man says and leaves the cell.

Soon he returns with a pair of dry pants and a jacket and, helping the young man to stand up, he is dressing him little by little.

They’ll get tired of waiting for you. And it doesn’t suit you at all. I tell you as a friend; if those two leave, they won’t come back.

Slowly Narayan is regaining consciousness and, leaning on the cleaner’s shoulder, is taken from the cell. Together they climb stairs that lead to the upper floor, still underground. Narayan’s eyes suffer the consequences of a prolonged lack of light and can hardly keep them ajar as clarity increases.

When they reach a bright room, the cleaner helps him sit in a chair and places a bandage over his eyes.

Good luck, friend. If all goes well we will never see each other again. But if you miss me I’ll be waiting for you down there. I’ll have your cell very clean in case you miss it, he says laughing.

It’s... wait, Narayan manages to articulate.

The man turns around. He wasn’t expecting to hear him talk.

What do you want?

Where is the other boy?

What other boy?

The one who has occupied the opposite cell until recently. What happened to him?

There has been no boy, the man says, surprised. The last gallery companions you had were those two annoying comic fountain spoilers.

I mean the Nameless Kid. Where have you taken him?

Neither without a name nor with it. I’ve already told you that there hasn’t been anyone else since then.

The man ends the conversation, says goodbye to someone who must be present but does not answer and leaves the room, leaving Narayan baffled. He knows that there are two people with him, for he notices their breaths differently.

While some of them are encouraged to speak, Narayan wonders what the jailer wanted to lie about the existence of the Nameless Kid.

Soon one of the men is encouraged to break the silence.

As you asked: a young and resistant boy, with no attributed blood crimes and nothing to lose. It seems that he has begun to suffer delusions, but he will recover as soon as he begins to receive fresh air on his face.

Very well, but I want him to see a doctor immediately. As he is, he seems little more than a sick mole. If he manages to recover soon, I think he will help us, says the second man with a sharp British accent. So there is no other like this in the dungeons?

No, not at all. This was the last one left in the second basement. As the jailer said, he has been isolated there for a few months.

Is what they told me about him true?

Yes. No one explains how, but he has been locked up for almost two years and has survived.

Incredible, replies the second man.

Could you leave us a moment alone, please?

Of course. I will come in five minutes.

With a polite greeting, the first man leaves the room, leaving Narayan next to the enigmatic visitor.

Hello, Narayan, the man says in a deep voice. Narayan has the feeling that he is forcing it, perhaps to camouflage his real voice and prevent him from recognizing him. As I have heard, you are a difficult boy to bend.

Narayan believes that the most sensible thing is to say nothing.

You are able to survive in conditions where not even rats last more than a week. It would be interesting to know the number of generations of rodents that you have seen pass by your side.

The man takes three or four slow and marked steps by resonating his heels in the small room. Then he drags a chair and sits on it near him. He smells like tobacco and camphor.

The cleaner told me that on one occasion you spent two whole weeks without eating or drinking, he whispers like someone who shares a secret.

For the first time, Narayan reacts by giving him a small nod.

All of that is fine, but would you like to show me how far you are really able to go for your freedom?

I wouldn’t doubt it for a moment

Monsignor Dumont sees from the window of his bedroom the sea of ​​dirty roofs that extend in front of him like a lookout stationed in the gavial of an old ship. The sun’s rays that sprout from the splendid morning sneak solemnly into the room, bathing his body with a stream of infinite whiteness. Around him, some dust particles dance in suspension just like a swarm of tiny butterflies craving his blessing. The bishop holds in his injured hand a steaming cup of tea that slowly approaches the mouth with slow movements. Between sip and sip take the opportunity to inspire the pleasant aroma that the green leaves give off exclusively for him.

Not far from him is Brother Anderson, straight as a column and with crossed arms.

You have always enjoyed my consideration and my grace, assures the bishop without looking away from the window. You have benefited from my goodness one and again, and I’ve rarely asked you something in return, right? He asks, turning his head slowly into the room. However, today I must put aside that healthy habit and request a somewhat special favor. Monsignor Dumont pauses. You will be with me that it is fair.

Nagesh waits by the entrance without saying anything, with his eyes fixed on him and his anger tied with thick rope. He does not know the reason why the very scoundrel has called him, but he must admit that he has guts. "He always had them, why would he behave differently now?" At one time he used to be his guardian to keep him subject to his will. He relied on everything the boy owed him for having welcomed him into his abbey and offered him a roof, an education and a bowl of hot soup.

But now Nagesh knows his miseries. He knows that the bishop murdered his brother as soon as he was born, burying his body under a fig tree while he was still covered in blood and the rest of the placenta. He prefers not to opt for thinking that he was still breathing. Years later, he had found his tiny little bones thanks to a curious crow that had helped him dig them up. Naively, he had thought it was the skeleton of a hare. What an idiot he felt now!

Nagesh would like to ask him the reason. To tell him what prompted him to kidnap the newborn son of a peasant and a gravedigger with the sole intention of ending his life. He would also like to ask him a few other things. If, as Nagesh believes, his brother died due to the unfortunate circumstance of being born before him, did the bishop think that this child would be the only one born? If he had known that another was coming, would he have kidnapped him too? Would he have killed them both equally or did he mean any meaning to end only the firstborn? It is clear that in his mind there are a lot of questions to which Monsignor Dumont would have to answer. Then he would strangle him very slowly, wrapping his purple stole around his neck and tightening as if it were the rope to tie a sack of wheat.

In fact, if Brother Anderson was not present now, he would do it. He had decided after Anuj showed up at his house this morning to let him know that Bishop Dumont demanded his presence. But put to consummate his revenge, Nagesh knows that it is preferable to avoid witnesses and, obviously, it does not occur to him to kill the vicar as well. He always behaved in a moral way with him, but that does not mean that he deserves the same fate as the bishop, much less.

Since he must postpone his revenge for another day, Nagesh chooses to act before Monsignor Dumont as naturally as he can pretend. It would not make sense to start throwing accusations that make him take a defensive position before him. It is better that he does not know where his inquiries reach. That way, when the time is right, he might surprise him like a docile and confident little lamb. Meanwhile, the smartest thing is to appear to remain the scary child who years ago asked for shelter in the abbey. The one who feared the dark and suffered horrible nightmares every night. Having freed himself from the oppression of the bishop had reinforced his self-confidence, frightened fears and forged a determined character in him. It is true that even some nights the nightmares return to his head, but he almost considers them a kind of harmless mental training.

But even if he doesn’t do it today, he will soon take off his mask and show the bishop what he really is. Surely then one last and unpleasant surprise is taken before being sent to the hell to which he belongs. In the meantime, he is just to listen to the reasons why Monsignor Dumont insists on reminding him of everything he is supposed to owe him.

To be honest, Nagesh finds it funny that the bishop is talking about favors. There must be another reality in his head in which he believes he has been doing his whole life and now he needs to be compensated with a tiny part of his generosity. But Nagesh knows from experience that the favors granted by the clergy are often expensive to return and he finds it pathetic to the bishop’s lack of suggestion, after all the atrocities he has committed in his life. He has had him living under the cover of a lie, pretending to be a merciful pastor when in truth he is nothing more than a miserable murderer lacking any trait of humanity. Nagesh knows that like him there are several hundred hanging around the alleys of the city when night falls. The only difference is that most of them do not normally worry about being heard.

Instead of being ashamed before him and apologizing, Monsignor Dumont delights in his hot tea infusion while talking about justice.

Please, Brother Anderson, can you give the boy that envelope? This damn rheum is killing me.

The monk goes to the table and takes the envelope indicated by the bishop. Then he goes to Nagesh and delivers it. The boy looks at it strangely. It is a small sealed envelope, provided with the British Crown shield. It is written in large letters a name that Nagesh has never heard: Sir David Sheercliff. The calligraphy does not correspond to that of Monsignor Dumont. Whoever wrote it must have taken his time, in view of the careful strokes and uniforms used. Either that or someone accustomed to writing documents in which the presentation is very important. Whoever it was, has also been worried about using a dark paper envelope that makes it impossible to read the message that has been folded inside.

Nagesh has no idea why they give him a letter that is addressed to another person, but soon he will discover it and then he would rather not have done so.

Governor Lord Britton is very involved in strengthening the diplomatic ties that bind us to our neighboring provinces, Bishop Dumont explains in an introductory manner. The consul of Darjeeling is one of the largest tea producers in the country and an excellent commercial strategist, as well as a good friend of the empress, as I have heard. Lord Britton sees in him a very important bulwark in order to position himself on the territorial map.

Nagesh listens to the blissful retinue of the bishop trying to temper his rancor. Everything he can tell him at this point matters very little. He doesn’t want to know anything about the Crown, nor about the governor’s stupid political ambitions, nor about the stale and empty sermons that the bishop so much likes to promulgate. Because, as if that were not enough, religion has also disappointed him. Nagesh knows that all the years he has spent cloistered in the monastery will never help. He even feels deeply disappointed with the people he most admired there, such as Brother Saravanan. Nagesh does not understand how he could continue to live and pray for years with a being as despicable as Monsignor Dumont, knowing some of the horrible things he had done. "Who knows what he could have done in his more than half a century of wanderings?" Asks Nagesh, assuming that most of his misdeeds have not even come to light. He is sure that Brother Alfred did not know that hidden bishop’s facet. He had not shared a spiritual refuge with a repulsive child killer.

Nagesh also begins to feel sympathy, even without knowing him, for Brother Visharad. This man had not hesitated to leave when he discovered that the bishop had buried a baby in the garden and was not able to offer a convincing explanation of what happened.

Despite his disinterest in how much he hears, and his mind set on how bloody his reprisals will be, Nagesh wants to appear to be paying attention to the bishop. Experience tells him that it greatly reduces audience time. "Tomorrow can be a good day to go to the coast when leaving the smithy. As the weather has improved, fishermen may go fishing and need someone to help them untangle the nets. In addition, so the next day he could have a pretty harpoon in which to skewer his throat," Nagesh thinks as they believe him listening.

Monsignor Dumont pauses to approach the cup to his lips and check its temperature. Every day that passes prefers less hot tea and Anuj seems to have the habit of always boiling it too much. His old teeth can’t stand it, but the novice seems not to understand.

It is of the utmost importance that you deliver that message to its recipient, Father Dumont tells him, pointing to the envelope that the vicar just gave him. Tomorrow morning you will join a group of people and depart together for Darjeeling. As soon as you arrive you will give it to the consul personally. Then you can return to the city and your debt to me will be paid off.

What? Are you asking me to deliver a letter in your name?

So that’s what it’s all about. He wants me to be his messenger.

Exactly.

What about the threats you made on our wedding day? Nagesh reminds him dryly. You slipped into our house, discredited and cursed our union and, not happy with that, you summoned us to carbonize us among the flames of the underworld. Should I act as if that had never happened?

Monsignor Dumont makes a surprise gesture at this accusation.

Young people tend to be prone to exaggeration, he says, even being offended.

Just by witnessing his countenance, Nagesh feels the imperative need to jump on him and nail his nails over and over again until he has emptied his basins completely. He would like to tear off that bifid and biting tongue, able to cut with the precision of a saber, and make him swallow it.

Oh, come on! Are you going to listen to all the tone outings of this poor old man? Father Dumont continues to play down.

Nagesh tries to swallow saliva, but in his mouth there is only a bitter paste that dries his throat and burns his stomach. He knows that it is not the time. He could not tear the intestine and strangle him with it, and then walk quietly from there. The vicar would not allow it and, in addition, there are many people frequenting the outskirts of the church at this time as to escape without being seen. If Brother Gorgonio taught him something, patience is the secret ingredient of the best prepared stews. The time will come, either sooner or later, but it will come.

Nagesh tries to seal his lips to contain unwelcome words and assimilate what Monsignor Dumont is asking. Then he blows out all the air from his lungs in a faded breath.

Darjeeling you said. That place is far north, isn’t it? Nagesh asks, pretending to adopt an attitude of simple strangeness.

That’s right, near Tibet. I am glad that you paid attention to the geography lessons that have been taught to you, answers, cheerful, Monsignor Dumont.

Nagesh is not for irony and prefers to ignore the bishop’s comment.

But that means I’ll have to be away from home for several days.

About eight or nine weeks, if we avoid the unexpected, the prelate confirms without giving it less importance. However, upon seeing Nagesh’s face of disagreement, he seeks to be more understanding. Hey, if what worries you is not being able to be close to your wife, you can rest easy. I will ask Anuj to bring her food every day and take care that she does not lack anything. Before she realizes you’re gone, you’ll be by her side again.

Nagesh tries to convince himself that Shefali has been taking care of herself for many years before meeting him, so two more months shouldn’t be a problem for her. Even with everything, it makes no sense to have to give up her company for an absurd whim of the bishop and does not intend to agree to please him for the good.

What does the message put? Nagesh is interested, trying to get more information about the reason for his trip and the real objective he pursues.

Oh, nothing important... Monsignor Dumont begins before interrupting himself, as if he ultimately discards a totally improvised answer.

And why should I take something in person that is not important? Didn’t you say that more people in that group travel? Why can’t any of them deliver it?

Nothing important at first glance, I meant, seeks to quickly hide Monsignor Dumont. However, to Nagesh nothing the bishop can say sounds convincing. For those of us who don’t understand politics, they don’t tell us these things too much, you know.

So, do you send the message for you or for the governor? Asks Nagesh, who begins to distrust because of the nervous responses of the bishop.

This... from the governor, he mumbles. As I told you before, Lord Britton has an enormous interest in strengthening his relations with the consul. Although I have also taken advantage of the letter to ask him to send me a sample of his reputed product.

Then Monsignor Dumont decides to take the reins of the conversation before the boy really bothers him with such a question.

Nagesh, I think you’re indebted to me, he says, using a markedly artificial tone. And I promise you not only to forgive all those debts, but also that on your return I will pay you and your wife a convenient sum. I will let you ask me what you want and, if it is in my hand, I will try to get it to you, as I have always done.

Monsignor Dumont looks sideways at the boy looking for some kind of effect on him, but he remains expressionless.

In addition, you will not want that by an unfortunate decision your wife finds out that the idyllic husband to whom her legs welcome is not really the Brahmin that he claims to be, but a miserable pariah who with each fierce shake devours her purity a little more, it contaminates her blood and stains her lineage.

The unexpected and brutal blackmail of the bishop enervates Nagesh, who suddenly finds serious difficulties in not losing patience. Threatening him to make his true identity public is a low blow, an improper creeping move by someone who boasts of his fraternity. Nagesh is sure that if someone from Shefali’s family found out about his impure origin, he would go after him and end up hanging him by the feet in a tree, leaving him there until his eyes fell to the ground. However, what worries him most is the pain that would cause her to know that she has been deceived. Nagesh is aware that he has not done well by hiding behind the mask of someone different and feeding in time a lie of such magnitude. But if that lie allows them to remain both happy for a lifetime, welcome.  

I recognize that the news of your marriage bothered me greatly, the religious continues. But, as always, I kept out of your decisions, trying not to interfere in what fate might have reserved for you. In the same way, it was your will to unite following the rites of her family and I accepted it.

Monsignor Dumont hurries the contents of his cup and leaves it on a porcelain plate arranged on his table.

Think about it, Nagesh. Wouldn’t it be a shame to spoil everything with what you have taken at this point?

Although terribly offended, Nagesh still does not want to enter his game and chooses not to answer. However, Monsignor Dumont seems determined to finish making him lose his mind.

Divorce is a recognized motive of social marginalization, he continues with hurtful intent. Imagine such a young girl looking away wherever she goes. She would never have children or be fit to form a home. Certainly, it is not the tomorrow that I had imagined for you.

How...?

How do I know you’re a liar? Come on, it is clear that some farmers would never marry their daughter with an untouchable being aware of that fact. Surely you will have presumed to be a great priest without qualms when marrying their daughter for pure love, even if that implies for you to lower yourself to their height.

Would you dare to do that to me? Asks Nagesh. Discover me before her or her family.

I wouldn’t doubt it for a moment.

As much as it hurts, however much he wishes things were otherwise, Nagesh recognizes that the bishop does not brag for no reason. The hypotheses he lists would become a reality at the moment he simply opened his mouth and uncovered his deception. He would be persecuted and executed, and she expelled from any place she approached where there was a human being. So, much to his dismay, while Monsignor Dumont has the key to his future, his only way out is to access his requests, fulfill his orders and indulge his whims. He must deliver that damn message. What comes next will be seen.

If he heeds his words, the bishop will stop bothering him once he has returned from his trip. To consider them a lie only leads to an exit: Monsignor Dumont will blackmail him while he lives, constantly threatening to destroy him by revealing his condition in public. Accepting this implies that the only way to end the problem is to end his fatal existence at once.

Nagesh is confirmed in his posture. He will allow the bishop to trust himself, believing himself to be in an advantageous position and, upon returning from his trip, will arrange once for all the issues that both have pending.

Fine, Nagesh says. I will take this letter to the consul and with that we will settle our debts. Then we will follow separate paths and neither will interfere in the life of the other.

Brother Anderson is a witness to our agreement, isn’t it, Brother Anderson?

The monk nods according to his role.

Great, the bishop congratulates himself. You should be at seven in the morning next to the governor’s house. Do not be scared to consider it hasty, you will not need to carry much. If anything, some coat since in the north it is quite cold at night. Take some food for the way too.

Monsignor Dumont approaches the window again and looks through it. The sea is getting dark, but he feels that he is finally leaving behind the area of ​​reefs that he has been trying to cross for so many years. From now on, he hopes to cross a calm surface that merely rocks gently when he wants to look for prominence.

Now leave and say goodbye to your wonderful woman as she deserves. Below is a car waiting for you that will take you home.

Containing his anger, Nagesh keeps the letter and his anger in his pocket. Then he turned to Brother Anderson, urging him to send a greeting to the other monks of the abbey when he saw them, and left the room.

If he opens the envelope and discovers that it is a pantomime, the situation could become dangerous, the monk warns his superior, once he finds that the boy has left the building. Obviously, the vicar knows nothing of the purpose behind Monsignor Dumont’s request. He only refers to the content of the letter.

So much if he discovers it as if not, on his return the situation will end up becoming dangerous, admits the bishop, who for that reason has tried to transfer the responsibility to the governor. The important thing is that he does not focus his reaction on us.

During the journey back home, Nagesh is going around the damn turn that fate has taken. If everything had gone as it should, right now he would have to be praying that no one would relate him to the body of the bishop and, however, what he thinks about is how to tell his wife that he has to make a commission for him. It is painful and humiliating to be coerced under the blackmail more ruin, but he has no choice but to access his request. At the moment, the only thing Nagesh wants is to be with his wife and keep the job, thanks to which both of them manage to live with a certain independence. Because if the bishop fulfilled his threat on a smaller scale and his untouchable condition came to the blacksmith’s ears, his employment would also be at risk.

Knowing that the money from Shefali’s flower stand would not be enough to support a family, Nagesh had decided to look for a job as soon as they got married. One of the things that mattered most to him was that he didn’t have to relate to anyone outside his own work. If someone discovered that he was dealing with a pariah, he would be immersed in a great problem, even in the area of ​​low-skilled work. It was not likely, Nagesh believed, that after so many years held in the abbey many remembered the son of the gravedigger, and much less that of that poor rice worker, who had been adopted by the monks years ago. He was not very well known far from his village at that time, except for the fact that he had too light skin and, even better, it was easily forgettable. A good example of this was the blacksmith himself, who would never have allowed him to approach his forge of having recognized him. The only and unexpected exception was that Brahmin from the temple who had visited with Shefali to deliver some flowers. It was the first time that Nagesh entered one and yet that blessed priest knew he was an untouchable. "How the hell would he has found out? Nagesh asks himself often. Would he remember me after seeing me at the door at the time I went to the temple with my father?"

Apart from the constant danger of someone recognizing him while performing his job, there was another problem added. Any job he chose would inexorably imply having to lie to Shefali. For her he was a religious and, as such, he was not socially accepted to devote himself to worldly work, which were the only ones that were really going to be within his reach. It was not feasible to go to a temple to ask for admission by referring to belonging to a Brahmanic caste without having exercised until then, and citing his Christian past would not help either. For that reason, Nagesh chose to deceive his wife as a simpler resource, telling her that he would begin to collaborate with the priests of the Parasurameswara temple dealing with the morning offerings and the general adequacy of the enclosure. Later he could assume new functions more characteristic of the condition that he assumed.

With all the benefits and inconveniences at hand, Nagesh went to Kushala’s forge to offer himself as an assistant. The blacksmith, who since his wife’s death had stigmatized Monsignor Dumont, was glad that Nagesh had left him planted for marrying a young Indian woman and hired him unconditionally.

The work was hard. It consisted of hammering pieces of hot metal all day long next to the infernal heat of the forge and they didn’t pay him a fortune either, but at least it served him to be busy and maintain an acceptable lifestyle.

When the day was over, Nagesh washed in the smithy to take off his sweat, put on his street clothes again and returned home. He had to appear not to be as hungry and tired as he really was, and take care that no one in the smithy went to look for him at home when he was not working, but for the moment he managed to keep everything in order.

Nagesh hated having to lie to his wife when she asked him what he had done that day in the temple, but by now he had no choice. He had built his life around an unstable and devastating lie, like a flimsy house of cards raised a short distance from a window. If now he tried to undo that great ball, it would rush from the highest pillory in the world to the bottom of the abyss. His whole life would explode into thousands of pieces impossible to recompose. And what is worse: it would cause his wife to do it too.

I don’t understand how that message can be so important, Shefali asks aloud, sharing her husband’s misunderstanding.

Nagesh finishes chewing the last piece of tikka chicken that was left on his plate and swallows it. Then he sips the glass of lassi mango next to him.

That doesn’t matter. In a few days I will be back. You don’t have to worry, he tries to calm her down, leaving the cutlery on the side of the plate. Although he has made some mistakes lately, Monsignor Dumont has done a lot for us in the past and this new assignment will have its reward, you’ll see.

A reward? We don’t need anything from him, she says to counteract his supposed optimism. But it is your decision and if you see it so clearly, go ahead.

I have more desire than anyone for Monsignor Dumont to disappear from our lives.

Why are you going to be his herald, then?

I already told you. He has asked me as a personal favor. He needed a trustworthy man to carry the message.

And since when are you a trustworthy man for him? Shefali asks reiterating her doubts.

Nagesh doesn’t know what to answer. He would like to tell his wife that he totally agrees with her, that the bishop does not deserve even the slightest help from him and that what he would like is to make him swallow that damn overcooked with a hundred accounts of a bad yapa. But right now he can’t do any of that. All he can do is try to falsely justify his decision to collaborate with him and pray that he will keep his mouth shut until he is in a position to nail a chisel to the bottom of his throat. Fortunately, Shefali not knowing what the bishop did with his brother leaves him some room for maneuver. Otherwise he would have no way of founding to have agreed to do that favor.

Nagesh and Shefali pass the table in silence, as if between them someone had raised a wall using muteness as mortar. Perhaps, if they had known that it was the last supper they would both share, they would have approached it differently.

Later, in bed, Shefali decides to assume the will of her husband and accept that it is best for both of them. If the bishop does not really bother them again, it will have been worth spending some time apart. But she knows that time will be eternal. As accustomed as she has always been to being alone, now she does not want to see herself in that situation. She wants to see sunrise every day with her husband, she wants to have dinner with him every night and then make love until sleep beats fatigue. The rest of the days she is not interested.

I would love to go tonight to the spring where we met, says Shefali, remembering one of the happiest moments of her life.

Nagesh is grateful that she was encouraged to break the silence.

I hope you’re not suggesting it...

The girl smiles. As always, the crescent-shaped spot rises until it almost touches her left eye. Nagesh knows that if she nodded right now, he would accompany her to the end of the world.

You know? I would like to have a baby.

What?

Nagesh sits up as if that was the last thing he expected to hear.

A child.

Yes, I know what a baby is.

It would be great to have one. Yours and mine.

Well, it’s something we should think calmly.

Nagesh had never yet considered the possibility of having a child, but now that Shefali hinted at him, the idea seems quite reasonable. They have been married for a year, so it may be time to face that challenge.

We’ll think about it calmly when you come back.

Okay. It will be one of the first things we talk about.

Shefali smiles happily. Purposes like this were what she needed to see Nagesh’s absence with very different eyes.

Why don’t I come with? She asks after a few minutes fantasizing about her role as mother.

Where? To Darjeeling?

Yes.

No, it’s not a good idea.

And why not? Do you know the other people who are coming with?

No, I don’t know who they are.

Then why don’t you want me to come with?

Because it is very cold in the Himalayas and the journey is very hard. Now you are my wife and my mission is to take care of you and avoid having to go through such situations.

Oh, my prince... she says, kissing him gently on the lips.

With the first lights of dawn, Nagesh leaves his home and heads, apathetically, towards the governor’s house. Shefali has said goodbye to him at the door, begging him to be careful and not delay in coming back. Then she has gone out to the garden to breathe the fresh aroma that the plants irrigated by the dew give off and to select those that will be in her market position when people begin to arrive. Meanwhile, Nagesh moves away from her seized by sadness, seeking to fulfill the bishop’s message as soon as possible and continue to preserve his fragile universe of happiness. He still does not understand the need for him to have to carry the letter, when at his side allegedly traveling trustworthy people of the governor. Perhaps this is why this mission irritates him doubly. He does not understand how he could be able to suppress his murderous impulses the previous afternoon, when he had Monsignor Dumont at such a short distance. It is clear that avoiding haste has been one of the smartest things he has done in his life, obviously, but he is surprised to have had enough cold blood to follow it. All the things that the bishop had hinted at, directly involving Shefali in his tricks, he plans to remember them one by one while he sees him die. Nagesh’s only fear is that the bishop will surrender to death too soon, without giving him enough time for him to list each motive.

The men and women I need

The streets are empty at such an early hour of the morning, when the night owls have already returned home and the men and women of profit begin to get up from between their sheets.

Nagesh walks with his eyes fixed on the ground, dodging the puddles of urine and some remains of garbage that spread from his feet as far as the eye can see. A pair of medium-sized dogs, with a gray coat dotted with brown spots, nibble on a pile of rubbish stacked by a house that threatens to collapse from one moment to another. It looks like the bones of a rather large animal, maybe a goat. The dogs watch the boy go by as they gnaw their precious feast. The smallest growls menacingly, while the elder opts for indifference. Nagesh prefers to prevent the animal from feeling intimidated and looks away from it as he crosses to its side. The bite of a mad dog could be a serious setback and he needs to stay healthy and strong in order to give Father Dumont his due. "Will I be beginning to become obsessed with that man?" He reflects, realizing that the bishop is present in most of his thoughts.

After fifteen minutes wandering through the tangled crossings of the city, Nagesh arrives at the square where the governor’s house is located, whose shutters at this time are still closed. The boy does not understand how Lord Britton is able to sleep with such noise so close to his bedroom. He imagines that he will be awake, reading the newspaper while having breakfast to have something to talk about during the day.

The truth is that the activity always begins in this square a little earlier, because the large size of the posts makes them more laborious to mount and expands as a commercial tsunami through all the recesses of the city. Seen from an air balloon, surely the square resembled the mouth of an anthill from which black insects begin to sprout in all directions when a new day arrives. A chaotic spectacle in the eyes of the stranger, but impeccably well-organized from the neural logic of its protagonists.

A thick build man and a thick mustache awaits in front of the government building. His face is round and purple like the Lombard, and his features seem to be the fruit of folly because of a rather peculiar distribution and shape. It seems as if he had been created by someone who wanted to distance himself from the general trend in face design. As for his clothes, the feeling he conveys is that of a disheveled volunteer, with frayed bass bomber pants and a yellow shirt half-tucked at the waist. Seeing him, reminds Nagesh of a poor and native version of Governor Britton himself. Next to it is an open cart of about ten seats (perhaps less if one count the luggage) pulled by four horses of surprising good bearing.

The man observes without much interest how the boy approaches his position while adjusting the leashes of his animals. When he sees that nothing is going to stop him from reaching his height, he welcomes him with a reluctant growl.

Do you come with us? He asks next.

Yes, Nagesh simply replies, perhaps infected with his apathy.

I’m afraid you’re the earliest, says the man, who, to be so early, already has an intense wine smell. "Surely people like this were the ones that kept the abbey’s economy afloat long ago, Nagesh thinks, recalling Brother Zakkary’s spoiled vineyards. These people of the aristocracy do not understand punctuality. If they have to make me wait for them all morning then they do. The same gives them the advantage of the hours before the heat begins to tighten than not."

The man uses a rather curious theatrical tone, exaggeratingly gesturing to emphasize each of his words. Nagesh has the feeling that the coachman is a little drunk.

British punctuality, they call it. Ha!

Anuj! Nagesh exclaims with joy when he sees the novice appear in the square in such an unexpected way.

The scream slightly baffles the coachman, who immediately returns to focus on clearing the different knots scattered around the carriage and the annoying delay of some travelers.

Father Dumont told me last night that you were leaving for a few days, Anuj tells him without much enthusiasm.

Yes, he sends me to deliver a letter to Darjeeling. Tell me, how are things going in the new house?

Well, you know, nothing has really changed, except that the bishop is getting older and more maniacal. There are also many more people coming to Mass, so everything is a bit more complicated in terms of organization and cleaning.

You may not have to endure that situation for a long time, Nagesh insists, who obviously cannot make his intentions public in a place like that.

What do you mean? Asks Anuj intrigued, while checking that nobody listens to them.

Nothing. You will see it shortly. Be patient.

Meanwhile, the rest of the passengers of the atypical convoy seem to have arrived at the same time and successfully passed the count made by the coachman.

Ladies, it’s time to go! The man shouts then at all lungs, so everyone start to go up to the wagon and to take their place.

Here, I brought you some food for the trip, Anuj tells his friend, unwrapping a piece of bacon covered in cloth. "It is still good although it is already beginning to yellow, so the bishop would not like it. You also have red sorghum bread, some pieces of fruit and some