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‘I don’t know where to begin. You see, it’s rather an awkward story. I trust you’ll be discreet, Mr Carter.’
‘But of course, Mr Jawahal,’ replied Carter, taking a sip of his tea.
The man, who had not tasted his cup, relaxed and launched into his tale.
‘I own a large textile business in the north of the city,’ he began. ‘I am what might be described as comfortably off. There are those who would call me wealthy, and rightly so, I suppose. I’m responsible for a number of families and I’m privileged to be able to help them as much as I can.’
‘With things the way they are, we all need to do what we can,’ said Carter, his gaze fixed on those two dark inscrutable eyes.
‘Yes, of course,’ the stranger continued. ‘The matter that brings me to your worthy institution is a painful one, and I’d like to put an end to it as soon as possible. A week ago a young girl who works in one of my factories gave birth to a baby boy. It seems that the father of the child is an Anglo-Indian rogue who disappeared as soon as he heard of the girl’s pregnancy. I’m told that the girl’s family come from Delhi. They’re Muslim, very strict, and they were not aware of the situation.’
Carter nodded gravely.
‘A couple of days ago one of my foremen told me that, in a fit of madness, the girl fled from the house where she was living with some relatives. It seems she was intending to sell the child,’ Jawahal went on. ‘Don’t get me wrong. She’s a good girl, but she was under so much pressure that she became desperate. Which isn’t so surprising – this country is just as intolerant of human weakness as yours is.’
‘And you think the baby might be here, Mr Jahawal?’ asked Carter, trying to bring him back to the subject.
‘Jawahal,’ the visitor corrected him. ‘Let me explain. Once I became aware of the circumstances I felt responsible, in a way. After all, the girl worked for me. I combed the city with a couple of trusted foremen and discovered that she had sold the child to a loathsome criminal who sells babies to professional beggars – a phenomenon that nowadays is as common as it is deplorable. We found the man, but, for reasons that are now irrelevant, he managed to escape. This happened last night, near your orphanage. I have reason to believe that, fearing what might happen to him, he may have abandoned the baby nearby.’
‘I see,’ said Carter. ‘And have you informed the local authorities of this matter, Mr Jawahal? The trafficking of children is punished severely, as you must know.’
The stranger folded his hands together and gave a little sigh.
‘I was hoping to solve this problem without having to go to those lengths,’ he said. ‘If I did that, I would implicate the young girl, and the child would be left without a father or a mother.’
Carter sized up the stranger’s story, nodding slowly and repeatedly to show he understood although he didn’t believe a single word.
‘I’m sorry I can’t be of help to you, Mr Jawahal. Unfortunately we haven’t found a baby or heard of any child being found nearby,’ Carter explained. ‘Still, if you leave me your details I’ll get in touch if I hear anything, although I’m afraid I would have to inform the authorities if the baby was abandoned outside this orphanage. That’s the law, and I can’t ignore it.’
The man stared silently at Carter for a few seconds without blinking. Carter held his gaze and didn’t alter his expression, although he could feel his stomach shrinking and his pulse accelerating, as if he were facing a snake that was about to strike. Finally the stranger gave a pleasant smile and pointed in the direction of the Raj Bhawan, the palatial government building that rose in the distance.
‘You British are admirable observers of the law, which is to your credit. Wasn’t it Lord Wellesley who, in 1799, decided to move government headquarters to that magnificent site in order to lend its laws greater weight? Or was it in 1800?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not an expert on local history,’ Carter replied, disconcerted by the sudden twist Jawahal had given the conversation.
The visitor frowned, mutely signalling his disapproval of Carter’s confessed ignorance.
‘With only two hundred and fifty years to its name, Calcutta has so little history that the least we can do is learn about it, Mr Carter. But, returning to the subject, I’d say it was in 1799. Do you know why the move was made? Wellesley, the governor general, said that India must be ruled from a palace and not from an accountants’ office; with the ideas of a prince, not those of a spice trader. Quite a vision, I’d say.’
‘Indeed,’ Carter agreed. He stood up, ready to see the visitor out.
‘All the more so in an empire in which decadence is an art form and Calcutta its main showcase,’ Jawahal added.
Carter nodded his head, not quite sure what he was agreeing with.
‘I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time, Mr Carter,’ concluded Jawahal.
‘On the contrary,’ replied Carter. ‘I’m just sorry I haven’t been of any assistance. In such circumstances we must all do what we can to help.’
‘Absolutely,’ Jawahal agreed, also standing up. ‘Once again, I appreciate your kindness. I just wanted to ask you one more question.’
‘With pleasure,’ answered Carter, although he couldn’t wait to get rid of this man.
Jawahal smiled maliciously, as if he’d read Carter’s thoughts.
‘At what age do the children you take in leave this place, Mr Carter?’
Carter couldn’t hide his surprise.
