Pocketed the Insult
I smarted under the insult, but as I had pocketed many such in the past, I had become inured to them. I therefore decided to forget this latest one and take what course a dispassionate view of the case might suggest.
We had a letter from the Chief of the Asiatic Department to the effect that, as I had seen Mr. Chamberlain in Durban, it had been found necessary to omit my name from the deputation which was to wait on him.
The letter was more than my coworkers could bear. They proposed to drop the idea of the deputation altogether. I pointed out to them the awkward situation of the community.
“If you do not represent your case before Mr. Chamberlain,” said I, “it will be presumed that you have no case at all. After all, the representation has to be made in writing, and we have got it ready. It does not matter in the least, whether I read it or someone else reads it. Mr. Chamberlain is not going to argue the matter with us. I am afraid we must swallow the insult.”
I had scarcely finished speaking when Tyeb Sheth cried out, “Does not an insult to you amount to an insult to the community? How can we forget that you are our representative?”
“Too true,” said I. “But even the community will have to pocket insults like these. Have we any alternative?”
“Come what may, why should we swallow a fresh insult? Nothing worse can possibly happen to us. Have we many rights to lose?” asked Tyeb Sheth.