By the end of the first year, Enumerator A had paid off his interest; by the end of the second, his debt; by the end of the third, he settled an unmentionable family obligation; by the end of the fourth, he bought a store; by the end of the fifth, he moved into a small room; by the end of the sixth, he built a two-storey house in his village; by the end of the seventh, he employed a servant; by the end of the eighth, nothing; by the end of the ninth, he donated funds to the village temple; by the end of the tenth, he bought a house in the city; by the end of the eleventh, he travelled in a horse-carriage; by the end of the twelfth, he got himself a mistress; by the end of the thirteenth, he supported her entire family; by the end of the fourteenth, he accounted that over the past five years no one, not even his close friends, had called him Bandu, he was Thorle Saheb; by the end of the fifteenth year, he lost his initial enthusiasm for the game. After Dara Kosh Pathan, he felt destined for disappointment. By the end of the sixteenth, he said to the paanwala, ‘I don’t want to continue.’

The paanwala reminded him that the game was the reason for Enumerator A’s lifestyle of a rural landlord in an urban metropolis with his own house and carriage. Twenty years had gone by and the paanwala was compelled to respond more harshly to Enumerator A’s apathy.

‘Who were you? A mere enumerator and a stupid one at that. “Sir, do you eat paan with or without cloves?” “Sir, how do you decide how far to spit?”’

‘I only asked that once, out of curiosity.’

‘Someday we will find him again, maybe his son,’ the paanwala said.

‘Why don’t we call it the Dara Kosh Pathan Competition?’ asked Enumerator A.

‘No!’ The paanwala was worldly wise. He knew how religious markers played out.

‘The Hindu participants will think the odds are stacked against them.’

Each year participants would enquire, ‘Where does he live?’

‘Herat.’

‘Where was he last seen?’

‘Herat.’

‘Does he have any words of wisdom for a young aspirant like me?’

‘Herat.’

‘Does he take disciples?’

‘Herat.’

‘I promise not to interrupt his meditation.’

‘Herat.’

~

The paanwala named his first son Dara, his second, Doro, his third, Duru and his first daughter, Diri.

~