Perhaps it was the sight of the piglet which interrupted Sir Moksa’s profound cogitation within himself and made him turn his dark good looks upon me. Upon him sat true oriental dignity in its most mythical tradition. He showed none of the awkward and raucous haste to please which repels the rulers. On the contrary, his was the colonial phenomenon: in contact with alien rulers types emerge which in their faithful imitativeness are unconscious caricatures of their masters. His easy manner, courteous tone, made him trusted, if not trustworthy. Surely since he was so urbane, he must be sound, straightforward; loyal … surely since he played such superb cricket, he must be a man of profound reasonableness. How else could the rulers judge their creatures but by their mastery of the conspicuous outward manifestations of their own habits? Sir Moksa was coming into prominence as a leading light in Malayan politics. His formula was simple and commended itself to those in authority: ‘Go slow. No independence until we’re quite, quite ready. We must learn to crawl before we can walk.’

‘You must come to the inauguration of my new party. I have named it the ‘Progressively Independent Party’. ‘Progressive’, because we are really go-ahead and enlightened. Our aims are to give everybody his due. Reform, not revolution. We must train ourselves for what lies ahead. Any undue haste will only upset everything. We must listen to those with long experience of ruling, not to the young and the foolish. Our party is supported by all the prominent people in the country, including the Colonial Government,’ he added, looking at me with fiery eyes, as if he had just made a world-shaking discovery.

‘I don’t doubt it for a moment, with that slogan,’ I replied.

‘pip’s aim,’ said Sir Moksa, ‘(that’s the name of the party, for short) is to please everybody. We are truly representative of every interest in Malaya. We have therefore the backing of all the right people. Planters, tin miners, merchants, the rulers, of course,’ (he said it reverently) ‘and … erh … the masses. The interest of the masses lies very close to the heart of pip,’ concluded Sir Moksa.

The laughter of Quo Boon floated to us from the next table. His Malay friend at our table giggled, sucked at his pipe, which gurgled emptily. This seemed to amuse him more, and he laughed softly to himself.

‘Wonderful chap, Quo Boon, grand character, one of the best,’ said Clerkwell, of the Malayan Civil Service, at our table.

‘Where are your wives, Enche?’[2] I asked the Malay. This threw him into another merry fit.

‘They’ve gone home. The older one is very shy of men. But the younger, ah … she is wonderful. You must come and hear her speak. She is speaking next month in Malacca. Politically she is ferocious,’ said Enche Ismail, and purred with laughter.