Solomon Cohen, the Jew

Her voice was so quiet that Aditya could only prick up his ears and lean closer to her, the girl's breath brushing against him. Aditya inadvertently caught her scent, milk mingled with flowers, and instinctively took a deep breath.

Dipali's face flushed crimson, and she said timidly, "Baba, please don't send me away."

Aditya savored it for a moment and understood.

Dipali was a Shudra girl his mother, Sushila, had taken in, and was the Mishra Family's private property. She had reached a suitable age, and barring any unexpected developments, Sushila would marry her off to a Shudra household under the Mishra Family.

However, after Madan returned, he went to the rear courtyard to see Sushila and happened to encounter Dipali passing by. This kindhearted uncle casually mentioned to Sushila that his nephew had come of age, too, and ought to have a personal maid.

Hearing her husband's younger brother say this, Sushila wholeheartedly agreed. Dipali had just passed by, which brought the girl to her mind.

After all, Sushila knew Dipali's background inside out, and Dipali was always hardworking. Of course, she was also very pretty. Sushila would feel quite at ease having her care for her son. Just like that, Dipali became Aditya's personal maid.

"Baba." Dipali looked pitiful, her eyes misty with tears. She raised an arm to catch hold of Aditya, but was too afraid to reach out.

Aditya knew that if he refused, this pretty girl would be sent to a Shudra household.

Rather than becoming a Shudra's wife, Dipali clearly preferred to remain beside Aditya, a Brahmin, as his personal maid.

In the end, Aditya did feel sorry for the girl. With an air of reluctance, he took Dipali's hand and stroked it for a while, comforting her. "Dear Dipali, Baba won't let you go. Don't worry!"

Dipali's anxious heart settled, and a radiant gleam flashed in her eyes. Feeling waves of warmth coming through her hand, she blushed and cast Aditya a flirtatious glance.

"Thank you, Baba."

"Ohh!" Aditya felt so comfortable that his soul nearly left his body.

The delicate, timid girl was delighted and began bustling around Aditya.

One moment, Dipali was massaging Aditya's shoulders; the next, she took it upon herself to tidy his bed.

Seeing Baba pick up the radio to listen, with no intention of going to sleep, Dipali went out and returned with a plate of fruit to feed Aditya.

Aditya enjoyed the girl's attentions, opening his mouth to take the fruit between his teeth. Amid this supreme pleasure, he felt as though he were floating away like an immortal.

What a filthy old society. This damned caste system. Aditya deeply felt the injustice done to Dipali and inwardly denounced this environment brimming with malice on her behalf.

Thinking this, Aditya opened his mouth again. This time, he accidentally licked the girl's finger, which withdrew the instant they touched.

He could not help feeling a trace of regret, forgetting what he had been thinking about.

Last night, Dipali had actually intended to sleep on the floor. After all, as a servant, how could she sleep in a soft bed with her master?

But to her surprise, Baba insisted on pulling her into bed with him, threatening to send her away otherwise.

There was nothing she could do; it was Baba's demand, after all. Dipali had prepared herself to be plucked. She was in her twenties, and she wanted a baby of her own, too.

Hadn't her mistress, Sushila, sent her to look after her son for this very moment? Blushing, Dipali took the initiative to wash herself clean and lay in bed, silently anticipating that moment.

After waiting in torment all night, Dipali wanted to cry but had no tears. For some reason, her Baba had merely held her and slept through the night.

Actually, simply sleeping in his arms was nice, too. Dipali greatly enjoyed Baba's warm embraces. But as they slept, Baba insisted on getting saliva all over her face, which made her terribly uncomfortable. Whenever she thought of it, her body felt especially itchy.

That morning, the red sun hung in the eastern sky.

Ignoring Dipali's reproachful gaze, Aditya got up, tidied himself up, and headed to Dashashwamedh Ghat.

By late July, the banks of the Ganges already had a hint of a coming festival. The petals floating on the water had changed from a wilted yellow to pale pink.

A breeze blew in from the south now and then, and it was hot. On the wondrous stone steps of the Ganges, there were somewhat more people than before: some bathing, some washing clothes, some pouring offerings into the river, and others sitting beneath the trees to escape the sun.

He walked along the riverbank for a while and spotted someone.

An old man sat in the shade of an old bodhi tree on the northern side of the ghat. Before him stood a folding table, with a chessboard on top.

Much of the paint on the board's squares had peeled off. At either end of the board stood a group of pieces, black and white clearly distinguished, evidently set up in readiness for someone to arrive.

The old man wore a flax-colored shirt, its cuffs rolled halfway up his forearms, exposing stretches of light brown skin.

His hair was graying but neatly combed. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on his nose, their thin lenses reflecting the sunlight.

The old man leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed, a cup of tea in hand, staring absently at several sari-clad women walking past him.

Aditya walked over and sat opposite him.

The old man withdrew his gaze and looked him up and down. His eyes paused briefly on the sacred thread around Aditya's neck, then shifted away.

"A Brahmin?"

"Yes."

"Can you play chess?"

"A little."

The old man arranged the pieces on the board one by one, then waved a hand to signal that Aditya could begin.

His aged, withered fingers held a black piece, in no hurry to set it down.

"You go first."

Aditya picked up a white piece and made his first move without the slightest hesitation.

The old man raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He made a move, too.

After a dozen or so exchanges, the position on the board began to favor one side. The old man's moves slowed. He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at Aditya over the lenses.

"You clearly know more than a little. You're an expert who's played for years."

"I've played for a few years," Aditya said.

"With whom?"

"Against myself," Aditya bluffed. Naturally, he was relying on his chess skills from his previous life.

The old man narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingering on Aditya's face for two seconds.

"You want something from me."

The old man sounded certain. It was a statement, not a question.

Aditya was in no hurry to deny it. He spoke as he continued playing.

"I need to borrow money."

"How much?"

"Five hundred thousand rupees."

The old man's hand paused above the board. He set down his piece and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest as he looked Aditya up and down.

After a while, a young man came over and handed the old man a slip of paper. Then he retreated a few steps and gradually disappeared from Aditya's sight.

The old man took the note.

"Your name is Aditya Mishra, Patil's grandson. Your father died in a sugarcane press, your uncle squandered the Mishra Family's fortune, and the Mishras still owe an enormous debt. You're asking me for five hundred thousand. What will you repay me with?"

Aditya raised his head to look at him, his hand still on the chessboard, and said:

"Have you heard that the ban on phosphate fertilizer is going to be lifted?"

The old man did not answer, but his interlaced fingers shifted slightly.

"I've heard word that before September, the government will announce the opening of phosphate fertilizer imports. People in Varanasi District are already stockpiling it. But their operations are too small. I'll go straight to the port in Mumbai to stockpile it. Once the policy is announced, prices will double."

After hearing him out, the old man lowered his folded hands, picked up a piece again, and made a move.

"You're very confident. You don't sound like you're talking in your sleep, nor do you sound like you're making up lies. But why should I believe you? How can you be certain of the government's decision?"

"You don't need to believe me." Aditya made a move as well. "You only need to trust your intelligence."

The old man's hand stopped. He raised his head, the gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses sharpening, like the flash of a blade slashing toward Aditya's head.

"You know where my intelligence comes from?"

"I don't. But if you've sat here for over twenty years and are still waiting for someone to come play chess with you, there's no way you don't know what's happening outside."

The game continued. After another seven or eight moves each, the position on the board had swung entirely in Aditya's favor.

The old man's king had been driven into a corner. A few pieces guarded it, but they were already useless.

The outcome was decided.