The New Dispensation

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-deaa7910b2bf4455bdbabac2ef323921
# book_title: The New Dispensation
# chapter_id: 1-the-new-dispensation
# chapter_title: The New Dispensation
# book_page: 1 / 5
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
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Writing about Kadir Baksh stirred me so deeply that I could not rest until I had at least tried to find a substitute of some sort. A dark-skinned servant is essential to my comfort. I imagined that in this city of barbarism I might come across a broken-down native, strayed from his home and friends, who would become my friend and humble partner—the kind of man, you know, who would sleep on a rug somewhere near my quarters (I have forty things to tell you about my quarters, but they come later) and generally look after my belongings. In my spare moments, I would talk to him in his own tongue, and we would go out together to explore London.

Are you familiar with the Albert Docks? The British-India steamers depart from there for sunnier climes. They sometimes leave a lascar or two on the wharf, and in fact, the general complexion of the local population tends toward brown and umber. I was in no position to be picky. Any dusky fellow would do, as long as he could speak Hindustani and sew on buttons.

So I went to the docks and wandered among the railway lines and packing cases, until I spotted a man selling tooth-combs—not a very lucrative trade. He was ragged almost to the point of looking furry, and thoroughly unwashed. But he came from the East. "What are you?" I asked. A missionary-like expression must have stolen over my face, for the tooth-comb man replied, "Sir, I am a native Christian." But he added five extra syllables to the final word.

There is no Christianity worth a tooth-comb in the docks. "I don't care about your beliefs," I said. "I want to know your caste."

"I am a Tamil," he replied, "and my name is Ramasawmy."

It was a terrible comedown, lowering oneself to the level of a colonel in the Madras Army and being attended by a Ramasawmy, but beggars cannot be choosers. I pointed out to him that the tooth-comb trade could easily be set aside and resumed later. He might injure his health by having a wash, but he would hardly damage his prospects by coming with me and trying his hand at a bearer's job. "Can you work?" I asked. Oh yes, he said, he didn't mind work. He had been a servant in his time—several servants, in fact.

"Can you wash yourself?"

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-deaa7910b2bf4455bdbabac2ef323921
# book_title: The New Dispensation
# chapter_id: 1-the-new-dispensation
# chapter_title: The New Dispensation
# book_page: 2 / 5
# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
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"Yes," he said, "I might, if you give me a coat—a thick coat—afterwards, and especially take care of the tooth-combs, for they are my entire fortune."

"Do you have any references of any kind?"

He thought for a moment, then said cheerfully, "Not a single one." At that, I began to like him, for a man who can tell the truth in small matters may be trusted with important ones, like shirts.

We went home together and stopped at a public bath, conveniently divided into three classes. I got him into the third class without much trouble. When he emerged, he was somewhat cleaner, and before he could protest, I hustled him into the second class. He refused to enter the first until I bought him a cheap ulster. He came out almost spotless. The whole procedure cost me three shillings; the ulster was half a sovereign, and some additional clothes came to thirty shillings. Even so, I could not ignore that he had a distinctly villainous look.

At the chambers, trouble began immediately. The people in charge were strongly prejudiced, and I had to explain that he was a civilized native Christian eager to improve his English—it was fluent but unpolished—before they would allow him a corner to sleep in. The housemaids nicknamed him "the Camel." I introduced him as "the Tamil," but they had no knowledge of India's ethnic divisions. They called him "that beastly camel," and I could see from the flash in his eyes that he understood only too well.

As we climbed the stairs, he confided his views about the housemaids. Living near the docks had ruined him. I asserted they were not what he thought. He insisted they were.

Then I showed him his duties. He stood for a long time contemplating the wardrobe, clearly knowing more than a little about the work. Whenever he came upon a particularly shabby garment, he would say, "This isn't good enough for you—I'll take it," and he did. Then he reattached all the buttons in the time it takes to smoke a pipe and asked if there was anything else. I weakly replied, "No." He said, "Goodbye," and vanished from the house. The housekeeper was certain he would never return.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-deaa7910b2bf4455bdbabac2ef323921
# book_title: The New Dispensation
# chapter_id: 1-the-new-dispensation
# chapter_title: The New Dispensation
# book_page: 3 / 5
# chapter_page: 3
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

But he did, at three in the morning. Since he had no latchkey, he rang the bell. A policeman intervened, mistaking him for a burglar, and I was roused by the commotion. I explained that he was my servant, but the policeman said, "He does curse wonderfully. It's no known language—I'm familiar with most, but some words I've only heard at Poplar." I dragged the Camel upstairs. He was perfectly sober and said he had been waiting at the docks. He must do so every time a British-India steamer arrives. A lascar from the ship _Rewah_ had stabbed him in the side three voyages ago, and he was waiting for that man. "Maybe he has died," he said, "but if not, I will catch him and cut out his liver." Then he curled up on the mat and slept as silently as a child.

The next morning, he examined the humble breakfast herring with disapproval. He promptly cut it in two, fried it in butter, sprinkled it with pepper, and miraculously turned it into a dish fit for a king. When the shaggy-headed boy came to clear the dishes, the Camel counted every piece of crockery into the boy's trembling hands and warned, "If you break one thing, I will cut out your liver and fry it in butter." Unsurprisingly, the housemaids declared they would no longer clean the rooms while the Camel was there. The Camel stuck his head out the door and told them they needn't bother. He cleaned the rooms himself, silently, and even filled my pipe, made the bed, and filled a pipe for himself, settling down on the hearthrug while I worked. Whenever his thoughts turned to the lascar from the _Rewah_, he would brandish the poker or take out his knife and hone it against the brickwork of the fireplace.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-deaa7910b2bf4455bdbabac2ef323921
# book_title: The New Dispensation
# chapter_id: 1-the-new-dispensation
# chapter_title: The New Dispensation
# book_page: 4 / 5
# chapter_page: 4
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
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The sound was oddly soothing as I worked. At one o'clock, he announced the _Chyebassa_ was due in port, and he had to go. He asked for no money, ensured my tiffin was served, and then hurried off. He returned at six, singing a hymn. A lascar from the _Chyebassa_ had told him the _Rewah_ was expected in four days and that his adversary was still alive and ripe for the knife. That night, while I was out, he got very drunk and frightened the housemaids. The entire establishment was in an uproar, but he crawled out onto the roof through a skylight and sat there until I came home.

At dawn, he was deeply penitent. He had mismanaged his drinking, intending to sleep it off on my hearthrug, but a housemaid had invited a friend to the chambers to gawk at him, and their whispered comments and giggles had enraged him. The following day he was restless but attentive. He urged me to flee to foreign lands and take him with me. When other arguments failed, he kept repeating that he was a "native Christian" and whetted his knife with increasing vigor. "You do not like this place," he said. "I do not like this place. Let us leave quickly. Let us go to sea. I can cook bloaters." I told him that was impossible, but if he remained in my service, we might one day travel abroad and enjoy ourselves.

However, he would not settle down, sleep on the rug, and take care of my shirts. On the morning the _Rewah_ was due, he left, and his absence made me suspect he had been arrested. But at midnight he returned, weak and hoarse.

"I got him," he said simply and took his ulster down from the wall, wrapping it tightly around him. "Now I go away."

He went into the bedroom and began counting the week's laundry, the boots, and other items. "All right," he called into the other room. Then he came in to say goodbye, walking slowly.

"What is your name, master?" he asked. I told him. He bowed and descended the stairs with difficulty. I had not paid him a penny, and since he had not asked, I assumed he would return at least for his wages.

It was only the next morning that I found large dark drops on most of my clean shirts, and the housemaid complained of a trail of blood all the way down the staircase.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-deaa7910b2bf4455bdbabac2ef323921
# book_title: The New Dispensation
# chapter_id: 1-the-new-dispensation
# chapter_title: The New Dispensation
# book_page: 5 / 5
# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

The Camel had received his wages in full from other hands than mine.