Gitanjali placed her hands on her head and flattened her hair once more. She hurried Govinda back to the main house.

‘Why were you there?’ Govinda asked his mother when they were in their house.

‘I went for a walk,’ Gitanjali said quietly. ‘Why were you following me?’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘I was giving him an order. Your father did not like the fish last time. He wants kebabs.’

That night, long past midnight, Govinda heard tabla drumming. He kept waiting for silence. But the drumming did not stop.

The Bet

The Bet

‘I feel a win coming on,’ Ashok said as he parked the Ambassador. ‘Do you want tutti frutti ice-cream, Govinda?’ They ate the ice-cream while sitting on their usual bench in the Royal Calcutta Turf Club. Gambling at the racetrack was their secret ritual. While they waited for the first race, Ashok teased a group of betting buffs who were looking at charts and debating their latest predictive theory. Nearby a man tried to impress his plump companion with the promise of a winner at long odds.

‘Today will be a good day for Chutney Mary.’ ‘What a load of rubbish. You must bet on the stars and not go by the names.’

‘It’s a dead five,’ Ashok said. His conversation usually revolved around betting and he liked nothing more than gambling on horses. ‘Pedigree and bloodlines can’t be denied,’ he continued as the betting buffs discussed various celestial portents. Punters swarmed about. Bookmakers hung nearby, picking up bets and playing with odds. Hands exchanged money through gates, bars and windows. Govinda saw men arguing and then trying to comfort each other. Ashok placed fifty rupees on a white horse named Dishoom Dishoom. The horses left the mounting yard to canter about the starting gate.

‘This is a lot of money for me,’ said Ashok, ‘but I know the owner and I have a very good feeling.’

Govinda watched as the jockeys, in their red, orange, green and blue outfits, and their horses with robust bones and magnificent hooves reached the starting gates. A pearly, dun-coloured stallion bucked and seemed roused to friskiness by the impending race.

Dishoom Dishoom started slowly. As they turned the second bend, the white colt was in the middle of the pack. The whole field stormed madly past and headed for the winning-post. Chunks of turf flew, and the earth shook under the horses’ hooves. A punter on Govinda’s right said the horse coming second looked good.

‘You wait,’ he told his friends, ‘he’ll break away.’