Joy, Thompson’s secretary, had worked with him at the Tea Board. She spoke to no one, looked at no one and no one knew anything about her. Not even Banerjee, who was, after all, the accountant. She wore white gloves. Banerjee suspected that she was responsible for his transfer from the centre of the office, a position of privilege from where he could see everyone, to a corner where he faced the window.

Young, the man in charge of the paan survey, was an American, although not the missionary-type that the English were accustomed to. This year would bring a new crop, the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Thompson’s first encounter with Young was also at the Tea Board. At the time, Young was selling a new methodology: survey, ‘a scientific management tool for businesses to produce more, sell more, and profit more, with less’. At the Tea Board, Thompson, along with the rest of the hierarchy, had found Young too eager, his hands always stretched forward, his face always friendly. When Thompson was ousted from his government job (some said there was too much of Scotland in him, some said he had used his fist where a word would have sufficed), he was also divested of his governmentality. Now he appreciated eager men. He invited Young to carry out a survey for the Company.

As the weeks went by, Pestonjee took charge of the day to day activities and Thompson migrated to the realm of ideas. Armed with new convictions, Thompson decided to pursue the kids. They can chew gum, they can blow bubbles, they can take off, poof! just like that, from the grey cliffs, from the tree tops, from their second-storey windows. Thousands of kids in the air, a garden of floating children.

3

‘Where’s the cow?’ asked Pestonjee.

‘The cow?’ the junior officer responded.

‘Yes, what else?’

‘Oh, the cow.’

‘I told you, two days ago.’

‘Yes. I didn’t forget. By this eve—’

‘No, not evening. By noon, in the lobby.’

‘I thought he was joking,’ muttered the officer, returning to his desk.

‘A cow?’ Banerjee responded.

‘Yes.’

‘A real cow?’

The officer looked around and spotted Natwarlal sitting on his rickety stool, leisurely picking his nose.

‘Natwarlal!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Where can we can find a cow?’

‘A cow?’

‘A cow, a real cow, a cow with two horns and four legs.’

‘Sir. My uncle in the village—’

‘Now.’

‘I can ask at the dairy. By tomorrow morning—’

‘I want a cow now.’

‘Sir, I have to file this paper, and then there is the mail to collect, and then deal with my brother. They have raised his rent again. Demolitions have begun. He is being evi—’

‘Come.’ Turning towards Banerjee, the officer said, ‘Banerjee, will you come with me?’ Banerjee rose involuntarily.

Halfway down the stairs, Natwarlal saw Battisi, the cleaner, walking up counting who knows what with his fingers. Natwarlal grabbed his hand.