It was cold-weather time about forty years ago, and four planters sat
talking after dinner in the Manager's bungalow on a tea garden in
Cachar. We will call them M., B.,
C. and H.
The bungalow, like many
bungalows in tea districts, stood on a high hill, the steep sides of
which had been terraced and planted with tea. On adjacent but lower
hills stood the factory and coolie lines. Everything
was quiet and lay wrapped in
a heavy fog. In the verandah near the steps sat the bungalow
chowkidar (watchman). The charity of the Tea Company had provided him
and his fellow-coolies
with blankets. And he wore his in the usual pachim (North-West
Provinces) style: one end
of the blanket is pleated and tied closely with a piece of string, the
short
part above the cord forming a tuft. The wearer pul
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