Later that day, Sultan went to the High Court to get himself enrolled as an advocate there. It turned out to be a mere formality for one qualified in London. He wondered what he should do next. To return home and wait for Bari Phuppi’s matchmaker was tempting, but the tension would be too much. It would be better to hang around in the High Court, just a few furlongs from Elphinstone College. He would at least be near the girl who meant everything to him now. He could not recall what his life was like, really like, before the day he saw her. And he shuddered to think of how he would spend the rest of his life if she turned him down.
It was a busy time in the High Court. The afternoon session was about to begin. Important-looking lawyers, hugging important-looking files, were hurrying to their courtrooms. Judges, revived by the lunch break, were giving finishing touches to their wigs before stepping into their courtrooms. Litigants were trying to have one last word with their solicitors, solicitors with their advocates, advocates with their juniors... The corridors of the court were busier, if anything. Sultan stepped aside for a chaiwallah rushing with a tray of glasses, a policeman leading handcuffed criminals in a line, a group of men pouring out of a lift and rushing to a courtroom on his left. Intrigued, he made his way to the entrance of the courtroom. Every chair in the room was occupied, and people were standing before pillars, walls, windows …
‘Quite a crowd!’ he stepped back and said to a man in a lawyer’s gown who had just come out of the courtroom and stopped to light a cigarette. ‘What is the case about?’
The man turned his head to look at him, but continued to light his cigarette. Then, still look at him, he put out the matchstick with a flick of his hand, put the used stick back into the matchbox and took a deep puff.
Sultan remembered that he was not wearing a black coat. ‘By the way, I’m Sultan Kowaishi,’ he introdued himself, ‘from Middle Temple. I’ve just enrolled myself as an advocate in the High Court – this afternoon, as a matter of fact – so don’t quite know what is what.’
‘Kowaishi?’
‘Yes, Sultan Saiulah Kowaishi,’ he offered his hand.
‘Glad to meet you,’ the man took his hand. ‘I’m Jinnah, Mohammed Ali Jinnah.’
‘Oh!’ Sultan’s jaw dropped. He should have guessed. The man’s height alone was a giveaway. ‘I heard about you in London,’ he said.
‘All good things, I’m sure.’
