The choleric manager stayed silent, gritting his teeth.
‘As you seem to think I can be of no help, I’ll leave and go now to see as many other managers as I can, who may think I can be of help to them, today and the next few days, to find out what information, if any, they can give me of the squatter area behind their estate. Then I will act on what information I have gleaned which may include pin-pointing a rifle range that has been reported and bugle calls that have been heard. Good day to you, sir.’
Without any more ado, Jason called out to his soldiers in crisp Nepali, ‘Back into the vehicle. Driver start up.’
The order was obeyed instantly. Just as he himself was about to climb into his he saw the elderly Gurkha quickly come out and say something to Theopulos who had been taken aback by his uninvited guest’s decisive way of taking the initiative from him. The Gurkha, who had to be a senior functionary in the office, Jason presumed, raised his hand almost as a protest at him, as though willing him not to move off, while the manager went back into his office.
The elderly Gurkha came up to Jason. ‘Telephone, Saheb. The manager saheb has been called by your Commanding saheb. I am Hemlal Rai, the chief clerk here. How wonderful to hear an Englishman speak our language almost better than we do. We spoke on the phone and now you can understand why I felt it better you didn’t come here in person. You’ll be glad to learn I have told Rabilal’s parents. They had thought that maybe he was dead as indeed an old shaman from Darjeeling had told them so but they are pleased to learn that you managed to carry out the correct obsequies.’
‘Thank you, chief clerk saheb.’
‘I have something else to ask that Rabilal’s father asked me to enquire if you knew what had happened to the son, Tor Gul Khan, of Akbar Khan, a Pathan lawyer, Indian Association and Indian Independence League, and his two nephews so he can pass on any details you might have.’
Kindness rather than circumspection was Jason’s uppermost reaction. ‘All tried to kill me and, in turn, all were killed. Tor Gul was shot in a Burmese temple when I was there but it was not I who shot him and the other two had parachuted into Burma and were captured, both times trying to kill me. They were hanged in New Delhi on the Viceroy’s order for wearing the uniform of the King-Emperor’s enemies. There is no mercy in such cases. I had to give evidence against them and was there when the death sentences were delivered.’
‘But they were not Indian Army soldiers,’ said the chief clerk.
‘No, but all of them had joined the Azad Hind Fauj even though none was an enlisted Indian soldier they were wearing uniform of an army fighting against the King-Emperor.’
‘I understand, Saheb,’ the chief clerk said, shaking his head and then Jason asked ‘Doesn’t the manager sahib speak Nepali?’
‘No, Hajur. Only Malay.’ He glanced round and saw his boss still on the phone. ‘Got it! I remember you from when you and, what was his name? Mmmm. Yes, Ah Fat used to visit us before the war.’ Shall I? Yes. ‘Kamal Rai also seems to know you.’
‘We met when I was a schoolboy. You see I was born in KL and used to come down this way with Ah Fat in our holidays, camping.’
‘Captain saheb, yes, yes, it’s coming back to me now. I tell you what, please arrange to visit us after work one day, with some of your soldiers and that will be a good time to meet up with him. We will really welcome you. You can tell us all that happened over in India during inding-pinding. We have heard so many stories that differ.’
‘I am sure that can be arranged, Hemlal-ji. In due course I’ll speak to the Tuan manager.’
‘So will I. I know the men here will love it.’
‘And you, chief clerk-ji. Where are your ancestors from?’
‘My great-grandfather with his family moved to the Darjeeling area some years before the Tibetan War. That’ll be about fifty years ago …’
Before he could comment, Theopulos rejoined them. ‘I understand you are Captain Rance. Please excuse my outburst earlier on. My nerves are not what they were or should be. That was a phone call from your CO asking for my cooperation and apologising for not having warned me before. Apparently the situation is worse than I thought. Your unexpected appearance rather threw me. What is your Christian name. Mine is John.’
Jason knew he had to be gracious after possibly being a bit too bombastic earlier. ‘Not at all, John. Fully understandable. I am Jason,’ and they shook hands.
‘What do you plan to do now? Have you time to come up to my bungalow and have a cup of tea or a fresh lime with the Mem?’
‘Thank you for the kind thought but I have to decline, this time anyway. I need to contact the other European managers as soon as I can and I don’t have all that time to complete my task. However, what I really would like is to bring a group of my men here one evening, after your men have knocked off for the day and have a get-together. Mr Hemlal Rai has already sounded me out about it and will be mentioning it to you.’
‘That sounds a good wheeze. Kerani, apa pikaran-nya?’ Clerk, what do you think?
Hemlal had fully understood what was being said but Theopulos had ‘lost points’ so far and had, somehow, to make up for that. This he did by speaking Malay in front of Jason, wrongly assuming the army officer did not understand it.
‘Bagus-lah.’ Good.
‘My chief clerk agrees that it is a good idea. Make a note of my phone number and we’ll fix something.’
They bade farewell and Jason drove off to his next port of call.
Ah Wong came out of the tea shop, got on his bicycle that he had propped up outside and glanced up and down the road before mounting it. He rode off in the direction of the ADO’s bungalow. Inside the shop a young Chinese girl, his niece, patted his $10 bill she had slipped into an inner pocket and went over to the older woman sitting at the counter. ‘I’ll buy a couple of tins of condensed milk now I’m here. A pity to waste a journey all this way and take nothing back for my sister’s new baby. Just time to get back before dark.’
The elderly woman picked two tins off the small shelf behind her. ‘We’ve at last got this new stock in. You’re lucky. It’s popular.’
The girl paid, took her change and put the two tins into her string bag. She went outside, got on her bike and rode off in the other direction, to the left, away from the village and towards the squatter area.
The elder woman in the shop took a small note book out of a drawer and wrote down the names of the two, with the time they had spent together and the $10 bill. They’ll come and ask me as they always do. I can’t chance my luck not to as, although I can’t swear to it, they’re bound to have other sources they can check up with.
Which was quite true: they had.
Akbar Khan, the Pathan lawyer who had worked for the overt Indian Association and, subversively, the Indian Liberation League, had reverted to what he considered his ‘normal’ duties now that India had got rid of the British and the Azad Hind Fauj sepoys had become heroes after the politically manoeuvred trials in the Red Fort in Delhi. He often wondered what had become of his son and nephews as no word of their fate had ever reached him and were they still alive surely by now he would have heard. He was totally unprepared for what he was about to hear when his telephone rang.
He answered in Malay, giving his name.
‘I am the father of Rabilal Rai calling from Bhutan Estate. My son, your son Tor Gul and the two cousins all played together before the war, if you remember, whenever I went to Kuala Lumpur on business and brought him with me.’
Akbar caught his breath as he tried to answer too hastily. ‘Yes, yes, of course I remember. What about them?’ Good news, I hope. I’ve heard nothing. What have you for me?’
‘Bad news, I fear. Your three are all dead, as is my son.’
‘How did it happen? Do you know any details?’
He was told all that Captain Rance had told Hemlal Rai, the chief clerk.
‘And who gave him that news?’
