‘Some even have mango trees.’

‘Why should the mill owners foot the bill for the mistakes made by the corporation? It’s only fair that the corporation sticks to its mandate.’

‘The corporation has no money. You don’t allow us to increase land taxes.’

‘There are many other taxes that can be increased. Just the other day, a friend suggested we introduce fines for spitting. What we are missing is imagination.’

‘The housing scheme should sustain itself. It is the corporation’s job to tackle encroachments, not to encroach on the property of others.’

‘Who will use the houses?’

‘The workers.’

‘Then increase their rents. Will your hospital charge me if your wife delivers a baby, Mr Petit?’

‘Ha, ha, ha. I will, knowing you.’

In the middle of the discussion Mr Petit left the room. When he returned, he was sweating.

‘Close all the windows, gentlemen, and the doors.’

‘Call the police.’

‘Sir, most of the units are away on Doctor Street,’ the secretary said.

‘Call the army.’

‘Sir, the police have already requested assistance.’

‘For us. Not for the police.’

‘Get the rifles. We’ll go down fighting bravely.’

‘Will you shoot me, Burjor? Promise me when the men come in, you will pull the trigger and end my misery, promise me.’

‘Yes! I promise.’

‘Do it the moment they’re at the door. Don’t wait for them to come in. When you hear them on this floor, shoot me! You know what happens when people are burnt alive. Promise me you will be brave.’

The secretary locked the door and barricaded it with a table. Chairs were piled on to the table. The twelve men had three rifles between them—all three ceremonial.

‘This rifle was given to me by Earl Rumpsteak himself during his visit,’ said Petit.

‘If you had only listened to me. I told you they would riot,’ said Burjor.

‘This is not the time. Where’s the cow urine?’

‘I always carry it in my briefcase.’

‘Give me some.’

‘Let’s rub cow urine on our faces.’

‘Me too.’

‘Yes, cow urine for me.’

‘Do you have pomegranate leaves?’

‘No.’

‘We can drink it without the leaves.’

‘If the leaves are mixed in it, it makes it easier.’

‘Here’s cow urine for you.’

‘Let’s recite the prayer of repentance together to purify ourselves.’

The two Hindus in the room said they would like to have some cow urine too.

‘How’s it prepared?’ Dhansukhlal inquired.

‘Not prepared, natural. From our farm in Matheran. My cousin is a well-known supplier for special ceremonies,’ Petit responded.

~

Elite Parsee families no longer sourced cow urine from Calcutta and Bombay. In these cities of vice, the cows too were non-discriminating; they ate and drank everything from leather chappals to alcohol.