The day’s outbound post was pending. Natwarlal rushed to the dispatch desk to collect envelopes and parcels, then to the storage to fetch his sandals, then over to Banerjee for money for the postage and only managed to catch his breath half a mile away at the post office, two minutes before closing time. When Natwarlal returned, it was half past five, the office was empty and Pestonjee was resting against the door of the filing room. After the mishap with the photographer, he had run after the cow and quickly bolted the door.

‘Is everything okay, sir?’ asked Natwarlal.

‘Come here, you idiot!’

‘Oh no, the cow!

‘Open the door.’

Natwarlal opened the door to the stench of cow dung. In the middle of the room, the cow sat demurely with her legs folded. In her mouth was an old brown file.

‘What is she eating?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘Pull it.’

Natwarlal yanked out the half-chewed file. ‘The correspondence for May.’

‘From last year. No one will ask for that now. Clean this up and kick her out. I don’t care if she’s a cow.’ Pestonjee advanced towards the cow and lifted his leg.

‘Get up, you filthy animal!’ Schlip—flop—he slid on the puddle of dung and urine and landed on his butt. Natwarlal covered his mouth. The cow rose. She looked at Pestonjee on the floor and their eyes locked for two seconds. She turned away, as if embarrassed, and then walked past him, through the doorway and down the stairs. Natwarlal followed her with his eyes until she had disappeared into the streets.

‘Natwarlal! What are you looking at? Give me a hand.’

‘See, sir, what an intelligent animal. She knew her way out.’

‘Only one door was open, you idiot. Get me a towel.’

‘But, sir. She could have pushed open the other doors.’

‘What do we do now?’ Pestonjee asked.

‘Can we go home, sir?’

‘About the file!’

‘I have an idea. I could get one or two mice and leave them in the room. We can blame the mice for the file.’

‘What if the mice destroy more files?’ Pestonjee asked.

‘We can put them in a cage and say we caught them. No one comes into the filing room anyway.’

‘Banerjee will.’

‘Sir, tomorrow I will tell Banerjee sir that I saw a mouse. Or you say that you saw a mouse. It will sound better.’

‘No. You tell him.’

9

‘. . . are you related to Whitaker?’ Thompson asked.

‘Second cousins by marriage. Before Boston—’ Young replied.

‘Is he teaching at that public school?’

‘Private! Yes.’

‘He has told many people that I changed the fortunes of the Tea Board. I hope he hasn’t told you that fairy tale.’

‘He did. You are his hero.’