The inquiry was conducted on the upper floor of Khader’s store. One by one, the betel merchants entered the inquiry room and gave their statements. The representative made a detailed record of everyone’s grievances. Dhamu testified that the stocks that Khader had entered as “sold” were in fact not sold, that they were being held in secret warehouses, and that he would be able to locate them if he was given two days’ time.

The inquiry came to an end.

Khader was happy that he was not subjected to any further questions. He and his accountant had been up all night fixing the books, and Khader was delighted their efforts had not been wasted. When the representative disagreed with his strategy to misuse the agency in order to collect his outstanding dues, Khader accepted his guilt without reservation. He promised not to make any such mistakes in the future. On the whole, it seemed that the entire matter would simply be put to bed with nothing more than an official letter of warning from the company.

But around six o’clock that evening, the representative, who sat at the entrance to Khader’s store, smoking a cheroot and looking out at the tamarind-tree junction, suddenly sat up and asked: “Khader, how do you feel about a trip to Kanyakumari?”

“Sure, with pleasure. Let me call for the car,” Khader said, picking up the phone.

“Not in your car,” the representative said. “The situation is still quite bad, and we shouldn’t give any reason for idle gossip.” He walked down the stairs and clapped his hands.

A taxi pulled up.

As Khader and the company representative got into the back seat, coolie Ayyappan walked over from Dhamu’s shop and climbed in next to the driver.

“Hey, you! Get out!” said Khader.

“But, boss, he is the helper,” said the driver.

“What do we care? Let him come,” the representative urged.

The taxi passed the Kottaram fruit farm and then pulled over in front of an old building.

“Why are you stopping here?” asked Khader, but the driver did not respond.

“Be quiet and follow me,” the representative said, and got out of the car. He climbed up the stairs, stood in front of the locked door, and turned to Khader. “Open the door.”

Khader hesitated.

“At the moment, this is still between us. But if you refuse, I have the company’s orders to call the police. Make a smart decision,” the representative said.

Khader opened the door.

Only three days later, Khader heard from the company that his permit had been revoked. The Betel Merchants’ Association made sure it became front-page news in the Travancore Nesan. For the next three days, Khader got blind drunk and lay tossing on a bed at the Cosmopolitan Hotel in Kanyakumari.

When he returned to his store four days later, a sign in front of Dhamu’s store read “Camel Brand Cigarettes—Wholesale.”