After he drew the bath but before it was time to start on supper, Arthur found himself with a rare moment of idleness. The only place he wanted to be was far away from the Big House, which he could already feel growing sour from the distinct odor of British sweat soaking through khakis. The Hintons were too distracted by their own excitement over the judge’s arrival to notice Arthur slip away. He often borrowed the Padre Sahib’s rusted bicycle for errands and now found it leaning against the latrine. He shooed a few ants off the saddle, then pedaled down the lane. If anyone said anything, he could always say he was foraging for bay leaves or other such herbs for cooking.
The sky was sickly overcast, like the shell of an egg. Still, Arthur reveled in the wind as he sped around corners, eager to get away. It wasn’t a feeling he had often—in fact, he quite liked the sprawling Hinton residence, overgrown and neglected as it might be. But today, he imagined nothing better than the feeling of bicycle tires spinning over dirt, the sun at his back, and the gentle downward slope as he pedaled for the river.
The route to the ghats along the Kangsabati River wound south past the police line, a leafy compound where officers and their families lived, and the new cinema hall, which didn’t look new at all. As he wheeled past wizened men squatting in conversation and barefoot children chasing each other through alleys, he felt his apprehension at the judge’s arrival dissipate until he could almost believe the man didn’t exist at all. But then he would catch sight of a comically bulbous pith helmet, the rigid khaki uniform, the shiny buttons, and the ruddy faces of those who are not meant for the sun—the British police officers. And he would have his guard up again, their glares a little too long, a little too pointed, as if they suspected everyone. He often found himself imagining what it would be like if, one day, they all of a sudden left and never returned.
Eventually, he came to a quiet dead end where an ancient banyan tree grew and under it waited a green bicycle lashed against a post. Arthur smiled—he had hoped his friend Neer would be here, and sure enough, Arthur recognized the man with the newly shaved head crouching by the water.
“Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun,” Arthur called down to him.
“And sons who have lost their fathers, apparently,” Neer answered, not rising from his position.
Arthur swung off the bike and walked to his friend. “I’m sorry I didn’t come this morning. You know I was—”
“Yeah, busy-busy,” Neer wobbled his head and squinted out across the water, then finally looked at Arthur, who was glad to see that his eyes were dry. “I wish I could have missed it myself, but you know. The eldest son must take all the responsibility. But what was the point? My father was gone a long time ago, the last years were just . . .”
Arthur knew. It seemed like every time he ran into Neer at the market, the man was buying herbs and tinctures for his father’s pain. Neer’s wife could have done it, but Arthur respected Neer for going himself, for doing this last deed for his father at the end.
Neer exhaled. “Anyway, I had to get away. My sisters have been wailing since dawn.”
“Sitting by a muddy river is better, na?” Arthur joked, then immediately regretted it—Neer’s father’s ashes were somewhere in this very muddy river, and it felt like a disrespectful thing to say.
Perhaps Neer hadn’t heard him or else wasn’t in the mood to banter, for he just bowed his head and pushed a toe into the mud, sinking it with gradual but deliberate force until the water seeped up from the earth and clouded around his skin. Out past the lily pads that hugged the banks, the river punts glided along the oily water. Arthur watched a piece of garbage float in its wake. He picked a branch from the ground and tossed it a few meters away. To his surprise, out of the brush came a stray dog after it, her tail wagging, a bounce in her stride. With the twig in her teeth, she rambled back to Arthur and dropped it at his feet, then sat back on her haunches and waited. Stunned, Arthur thought she must play this game often with the street children, but he was in no mood. He turned from her, and eventually he heard her footsteps scratch over the rocky bank, up and away, probably off to the road, where a more suitable playmate could be found.
“Silly, isn’t it?” Neer spoke after a time. “This place is so sacred just because Gandhiji stopped here to dip his toes in it ten years ago. He probably doesn’t even remember where Midnapore is.”
“Nobody does,” Arthur replied. “Me, I don’t know anywhere but Midnapore. These Hinton boys go all over, the Himalayas for boarding school, Europe for holiday; I walk to the other side of the river and think I’ve traveled the world.”
“Ever think about leaving?”
“Where would I go?”
Neer seemed to think about it. “Maybe you just need to meet a woman who will give you a reason to think bigger.”
Arthur laughed. “What’s with you? Talking about my marital status is an odd way to grieve your father.”
“Sorry, sorry. I just can’t imagine the last few years without Vaikha. It’s not such a bad thing, to have a wife.”
“I don’t need a wife. I know how to cook and do the shopping.”
“You think that is all a wife is good for?”
Arthur didn’t answer but let the buzzing horseflies fill the silence. It was not lost on him how generous it was of Neer, on the day his own father died, to think of Arthur and his solitary life. Maybe he should listen.
“But it’s too late,” Arthur muttered. “I’ve already given up on finding a match.”
“You’re younger than me,” Neer answered. “Your hair is still more black than it is gray.”
“And I am too busy, with my duties to the—”
“That pardeshi family? Oh, come on. When will you stop being their pet?”
“I’m not their pet—they give me a job, and I do it, and they pay me.”
Neer looked at him hard, making Arthur uncomfortable. Why did he always have to defend his work with the Hintons to everybody?
“If they give you food and water but would kick you out on the street just as soon as they get the notion to, tell me—how is that not like a dog?”
Arthur swallowed. He ran a palm over the back of his neck, wiping off the sweat, gathering himself. “Because they wouldn’t kick me out. Not unless I gave them a reason to.”
His friend seemed to sense that they were at an impasse. Neer softened, sighed, and broke his gaze away. The far banks of the river were dappled with white birds, all ebbing and flowing with the breeze. It was indeed a peaceful place, and Arthur could see why Neer had come here to get away.
“Well. All I am saying is they can take care of themselves by now. So you can sneak away for an hour or two to meet some girl. They hardly miss you right now, na?”
“An hour or two?” Arthur bent to pick up a stone from the rocky bank. He held the weight of it, and with his thumb, he worried the grit from its crevices. “Is that all it takes to make a marriage?”
Neer pushed up from his thighs, finally standing fully in front of Arthur. “Well, maybe it doesn’t need to be a marriage. The wedding, all that, maybe it’s too much for you. But you know, times are changing. Maybe you can just talk to a woman, and then see where it goes.”
Arthur frowned at his friend. “You mean . . . courting?”
Neer wobbled his head. “I think it’s called that. I don’t know, Vaikha and I were arranged.”
“Ah, why am I even listening to you. You don’t know what you’re talking about. No girls do courting. No mother would let their girls do that.”
“That’s what I’m saying, this country is changing! Come on. I have a cousin in Kharagpur. See? Something in common. You can buy her some chai and tell her all about how you grew up there. Her parents sell sweets in the bazaar. Will you just try? I lost my father today—will you give me this at least?”
“I don’t know why you care so much,” Arthur said.
Neer’s responding grin meant he could tell Arthur was giving in. “I want to find some happiness in this day. Even if it isn’t for me.”
At that moment, a yelp echoed from up the road, followed by shouting from a harsh British voice. Arthur whirled around and caught sight of one of the British officers he had passed earlier now taking a swing at the stray dog with his lathi. The mutt lunged away with her tail tucked, then paused once out of reach to look over her shoulder at the officer as if bewildered at the outburst. The officer wasn’t done. He removed his pith helmet—as if it would make him run faster—and started after the dog, who was caught off guard enough to allow the officer to get in a kick at her ribs.
The dog took off running again, and before Arthur knew it, she was on top of him, eyes wild and ears flattened. She had knocked Arthur over in her agitation, and despite the commotion, he couldn’t help thinking that he hadn’t another clean shirt for serving supper. He’d have to keep his back to the wall to hide the mud.
“Keep your filthy dog to yourself!” the officer shouted down at them.
Neer scowled as he helped Arthur to his feet. “Should we tell every dog in India to leave him alone too?”
Arthur laughed and gave the stray a pat on the head. She rolled onto her back and looked up at him with watery eyes and perked ears, and as he rubbed her belly, there was something about the way her brows twitched that made him think she had known all along the kind of mischief she was getting into with the officer. Arthur was about to push her away again when she put a paw on his bare foot—gently, with no weight on it—and licked his dusty shin.
“This is the most attention any girl has given me in years,” Arthur said, and though he meant it as a joke, it made him feel alarmingly sad. Perhaps he should listen to Neer. “All right, I’ll meet your cousin. If she would like to meet me, anyway.”
“That’s it!” Neer slapped a hand on his knee and grinned. “I’ll tell her and send you a chit when it’s all set.” He walked up to Arthur and ruffled the fur on the stray, then smoothed it over again. “Thanks, girl, for talking my friend into some sense. Now, I’ve got to get back. Although I wonder if the aunties have even noticed I’ve been gone . . .”
Arthur watched his friend trot to his bicycle, where it waited under the banyan tree, then push off down the lane. He felt for Neer; the battle of his father’s illness had been longer than anyone could possibly take, and yet Neer had shouldered it as if it were weightless, simply a part of him, like an old coat he’d had forever. But Arthur knew—nobody came alone to the river if all was right.
Something soft and sticky touched his fingertips. He looked down to see the stray still by his side, busy licking the sweat from his skin.
“Stop it!” he hissed, eager now to get back to the Big House and on with his duties. “You think you are the first stray who’s ever begged at me? I have no more to give than you do!” But the dog backed off only half-heartedly, licking her snout as if she could still taste his sweat on her tongue. Her wagging tail gave Arthur a pit in his stomach—he couldn’t bring himself to turn her away again just yet. “All right, come on,” he sighed, beckoning her back. But as she approached, Arthur noticed a limp in her gait. The panting smile and wagging tail betrayed no pain, but the limp didn’t lie—the officer had gotten in a good blow.
To his surprise, Arthur felt a pang at the realization—he was just beginning to consider letting her follow him home. He imagined sneaking her past the Big House and into his hut, where she could keep him company, or else let her loose in the woods nearby to help chase away the monkeys. But he wouldn’t make her run all the way home, and besides, it was a silly idea. She was probably riddled with fleas.
“Sorry, girl,” he said, giving her one last pat. “Maybe I’ll see you here again, na?” He looked over her face and body and tried to remember the tawny marking shaped like a leaf over her eye, how her pricked ears were mismatched colors—one brown, one white—and the limp that he hoped would be gone should he see her again. It was pleasant to think so, anyway.
He threw a stick into the murky water and watched her jump after it, then quickly ran up the embankment before she noticed he was gone. He swung on the Padre Sahib’s bike, praying he hadn’t been gone long enough for the Hintons to notice yet, and pedaled swiftly for home. Neer’s words echoed in his mind: “When will you stop being their pet?” Was he right? Was Arthur a dog to them?
He passed the British officer from before, who watched from the shade of a nearby building, panting from the heat. Only mad dogs and Englishmen, Arthur thought. But then, it’s not so bad to be like a dog, loyal and trusting, so long as you have the teeth to fight back when you need to.