A Far Horizon (29 page)

Extra days of imprisonment had wrought further changes upon Omichand’s physique but the Chief Magistrate had neither the time nor the inclination to dwell on the fading bulk of the merchant. He came at once to the matter of writing a letter.

‘On both sides casualties are heavy and trade is at a standstill. Mr Drake, who has so upset the nawab, is gone from Fort William. I am now Acting Governor. A new start can be made in our trading relationship. In Fort William we have the means to continue to fight, but for both sides it would be wise to avoid further bloodshed and come to an arrangement. All this you will tell the nawab. We will, however, only agree to a ceasefire upon the promise of honourable treatment for the garrison, and a negotiated settlement. Our ships lie ready in the Hoogly, and reinforcements are expected at any moment from Madras,’ Holwell finished. He dared not admit the state of affairs in Fort William even to Omichand.

The fat merchant said nothing as he took up the quill that Holwell offered. He was anxious for release and was sure no suspicion of conspiracy could now be pinned on him; things had gone too far.

* 

The response from the nawab was almost immediate. An envoy was seen to approach Fort William, walking slowly up The Avenue. The Chief Magistrate climbed to the ramparts above the gate and
guardedly watched his approach. The man advanced up The Avenue through the ruins of the embattled town and the wreckage of battle; broken gun carriages and discarded cannon lay everywhere, the carcasses of bullocks and horses and the bodies of men were thickly surrounded by vultures. A short distance from Fort William’s walls, the envoy came to a halt. The Chief Magistrate climbed higher to reveal himself. The envoy bowed. He spoke English. His message was that the nawab also wished the fighting to stop and would accept Fort William’s surrender. Having delivered his message and heard the Chief Magistrate’s demands, the man bowed again and returned the way he had come. Holwell ordered the white flag of truce to be raised as the emissary retreated down The Avenue. He continued to stand on the ramparts staring out over Calcutta.

Alone, high on his lofty pinnacle in the hot breeze, the Chief Magistrate felt he stood astride the gulf of time, spanning triumph and disaster. Before him were the charred remains of Calcutta and beyond them the nawab’s camp. He saw none of this but looked only at the horizon, stretching to eternity. His spirit winged towards it. From where he stood, the earth and its miserable happenings seemed a great distance away. On the parade ground, the men of the garrison and also the refugees stood waiting, eyes upon him. At last he turned towards them.

‘Lay down your arms. Rest and refresh yourselves.’ His voice rang out over Fort William.

Immediately, jubilation broke out. Once the news of the ceasefire reached them, even those in the garrison’s hospital on the point of death rallied to cheer and contemplate recovery. It was noon, time for the nawab’s siesta. His emissary was to return at three o’clock with terms for the ceasefire. During these intervening hours there was an air of euphoria in the garrison. The nawab might enter Fort William in triumph but there had not been the humiliation of unconditional surrender. This strengthening thought was in
everyone’s
mind; honour would be upheld.

Such euphoria did not take hold of the refugees once they knew
the way things were going. Their knowledge of their Moslem rulers was based on a different experience. Since their exposure in the parade ground to illness, starvation, cannon and arrows had whittled down their will to survive, most resigned themselves to certain death at the hands of Siraj Uddaulah.

Three o’clock came and then passed without any sign of the nawab’s emissary. At four o’clock, sounds of activity outside the fort brought the garrison expectantly to the walls. Instead of the orderly movements of troops for a ceasefire, they were confronted by the enemy emerging in a rowdy fashion from the houses of White Town. They crowded beneath the walls of the fort, shifting about in a menacing way, shouting incomprehensibly. No shots were fired. This sudden dearth of combustibles left the garrison unsure of the nature of the enemy’s overture. On the ramparts of Fort William, muskets were raised and readied. Holwell called immediately for caution; he felt sure the demonstration must be good-willed, in view of the morning’s proceedings. He ran back to his perch on the ramparts where he had so recently stood in triumph, for a better view. The moment he set eyes upon the restless crowd, the Chief Magistrate knew he had been mistaken in his evaluation. Below him, The Avenue seethed with angry men.

A young officer by the name of Baillee scrambled up to stand beside him. ‘It is better that you come down, sir. We do not know what is in their minds, or even why they are here.’

The Chief Magistrate stared down from his perch at the enemy, and was filled with sudden rage at such contrary behaviour. ‘Nonsense, Baillee. Brute strength is all these people understand. If I retreat they will sense our fear and all will be lost. I do not fear them. Let them see who is in command.’

Holwell laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword and stood unmoving, chin pushed out and shoulders drawn back defiantly, high above the disquieting crowd. He did not look down, fearing eye contact, but stared out at the crushed and looted remains of White Town. The sun no longer reflected upon its dazzling parts. It had
been brought to its knees in a mire of soot and ravishment. For a moment the Chief Magistrate felt the pain he knew Bellamy must feel when he looked at the violation of his church. His hand clenched the hilt of his sword as he stepped up to the edge of the ramparts. From The Avenue then a single shot rang out, hissing near his ear. Holwell drew back in surprise, stung by such audacity. He was suddenly aware that young Baillee had dropped to the ground beside him, blood spurting from his head. As the Chief Magistrate bent towards the wounded man, a sickening realisation washed through him. The shot Baillee had taken had been meant for him. Already, as if a thread had broken, bullets and arrows began to rain once more upon the walls of Fort William. The men of the garrison swarmed up beside Holwell to begin firing again at the enemy.

It was at this moment that the Chief Magistrate was alerted to further treachery at the River Gate. The gate had been forced open by the Dutch mercenaries who had deserted Fort William the night before. Already, the nawab’s thirty thousand were entering the garrison and yet others, unstoppable now, scaled Fort William’s walls. Soon the fort swarmed with the enemy, who made straight for Governor’s House.

As the enemy cascaded over the walls, the Chief Magistrate was forced to leave the wounded Baillee. He ran to the bastion above the gate and ordered the sepoys there to discharge the cannon and fire their small arms at the enemy now flooding into the fort. The men took no notice of Holwell’s frantic commands. They prepared to flee before the nawab’s army.

‘I order you to fire,’ the Chief Magistrate screamed.

‘We will be dead before we can fire a shot,’ a Portuguese sepoy shouted, cowering behind the cannon.

‘Fire or
I
will shoot you. We must show strength.’ Holwell aimed his pistol at the men as the noise of the mob rose about them.

Under threat of the Chief Magistrate’s gun, the men moved reluctantly into position. One by one they stepped forward with their muskets. Before they could even raise their guns each was felled by
enemy fire. Within moments the men lay writhing at Holwell’s feet, their blood collecting in a pool that trickled towards him.

The Chief Magistrate stared about wildly. Not a single shred of order remained. Wherever he looked he saw the dark force of the nawab’s men, yelling and slashing with their swords. The refugees were running about in a terrified manner, attempting to escape the slaughter. On the river wall of Fort William the nawab’s colours were already being hoisted. Holwell began to run in the direction of Governor’s House. In the afternoon Bellamy had retired to his room, too ill to keep up with events. The vulnerability of the Chaplain’s situation now came forcefully before the Chief Magistrate. As he neared the entrance he saw a handful of Fort William men clash with a further yelling mob. The Chief Magistrate raised his pistol. He fired and reloaded and fired again as quickly as he could.

A
s conditions in Fort William deteriorated and drunkenness amongst the soldiers increased, the Devi Ashram grew progressively nervous about the safety of Sati. They
continued
to hide her beneath the parade ground. It was as if she were buried alive. The worse things became in Fort William, the less Sati was allowed to emerge above ground. At times a thick piece of rush matting was thrown over the steps down to the warehouses to camouflage the entrance, leaving her in darkness. Now, when she thought of life above ground, of the changing light of the sky or the lengthening shadows of afternoon, it was to feel that when she
re-entered
that world she would be as if reborn. Once, she had climbed the stairs, longing for air and contact with the ashram. As she came up into the parade ground the light dazzled and the stench had sickened her. The corpses of soldiers and refugees lay where death had struck them down, without anyone to cart them away. Rats scuttled about the bodies, intent on feasting. The world Sati imagined lay above her seemed to have disappeared. She had returned to her underworld as if shrinking back into a cocoon.

Time had no meaning in this dim place. Her eyes had grown so used to the shadows that she could see depths where before there appeared to be nothing. Either Pagal or Jaya remained at her side,
but even they now made excuses to sit at the top of the stairs. Pagal worried for his children and Jaya insisted a better guard must be kept upon the entrance and trusted no one to do this but herself. Sati was left alone. The dank scent of mud, stale air and rat droppings grew steadily more pungent. The walls crawled with insects she could not name. Rodents scuttled about near her pallet. Through the beaten earth above her head, sounds echoed down in an impacted way.

All morning she had listened to the boom of cannon and the cries of terror above. A terrible restlessness filled her and the fetid odours of her prison fizzed within her head. She felt she could stand it no longer and must reach light and air whatever the risk. As she prepared to climb the stairs to the parade ground, the sheet of matting covering the stairwell was pulled aside and the morning sun shone down. Pagal’s face peered down and behind him was Govindram.

‘All is lost with the Hatmen. The nawab’s army are everywhere. People are leaving to return to Black Town and the nawab takes no notice of their departure. It is better we also go,’ Govindram called down.

She followed them up the steps, coming at last into the air perfumed with death. The Devi Ashram immediately formed a protective cordon about her. In the sky above Fort William, monsoon clouds had begun to collect.

‘The nawab will enter from The Avenue; his troops already cheer loudly there. We must avoid that place, for the crowds will be thick. We will go out by the River Gate,’ Govindram decided.

Slowly they moved across the parade ground, pushing their way through the mass of people. Siraj Uddaulah’s pennants were everywhere, streaking the fort with unaccustomed colour. Platoons of his soldiers marched about, muskets gleaming in the sun. The sepoys of the Fort William garrison had already been pardoned and were busy changing sides and vowing allegiance to the enemy. The nawab’s army took no notice of the ragged Black Town crowd, streaming out of the gates. They were interested only in the Hatmen.

As the Devi Ashram approached the river gate, they were caught in a sudden crush and pushed back into the fort. The nawab’s bodyguard, in indigo
dhoti
and turbans, were clearing the gate for the arrival of the nawab. It now appeared Siraj Uddaulah would not enter the fort from The Avenue but through this smaller gate, after he had made an inspection of Fort William’s walls.

‘Get back,’ Govindram shouted as the crowd pushed against them. He pulled Sati up the steps of Writers’ Row. The indigo turbans formed an impenetrable barrier before them. The noise of cheering troops was deafening as Siraj Uddaulah, in an immense silver litter, was carried triumphantly into Fort William at last.

While the nawab was in the fort no movement of people was permitted. The Devi Ashram was forced to wait in the broiling sun until the nawab returned from his tour of the garrison and was set down in the parade ground. It was then that Sati, peering out between the fence of muskets and indigo uniforms, saw the Chief Magistrate. His hands were bound and his clothes hung untidily about him. His wig sat at an odd angle, giving him a rakish appearance. Beneath it his face was grim. He walked forward held by a guard and was pushed down to kneel before Siraj Uddaulah. The nawab’s voice drifted in angry snatches over the waiting crowd. Sati was near enough to see the shadow of a beard on the Chief Magistrate’s face. Whenever she was confronted with him, the same inexplicable confusion filled her. Then people pushed in front of her and the view of Holwell was gone.

With the exit of the nawab, the Devi Ashram prepared to move forward again, only to find themselves before a wall of flames. It appeared the nawab had given an order to burn Governor’s House. Fresh hysteria swept through the departing refugees. The gates to The Avenue were blocked by the desperate crowd, and the nawab’s army, tired and victorious, were now in a touchy mood. A further fire had been started along Writers’ Row and the buildings adjacent to it, making progress to the river gates precarious.

‘Better to hide underground until all is quiet. Then we can leave at
first light when most of the soldiers are sleeping,’ Govindram suggested.

He led them back the way they had come, giving the blazing Governor’s House a wide berth. The flames lit up the parade ground, eating into the darkness, and sounds of crashing timber were heard. Soon the Devi Ashram reached the entrance to the underground passages and slipped down, unseen by Siraj Uddaulah’s guards.

The dirty pallet on which Sati had been confined still carried the indentation of her body. She seated herself on it once more and Jaya and Mohini sank down heavily beside her, exhausted. The rest of the Devi Ashram were forced down the rat-infested passages, where they cowered in fear with their children. From the parade ground strange booming noises filtered down the dark labyrinth. There was a faint light from the fire above. Those who could, pushed into the small space about Sati’s pallet.

‘Tell the Goddess to come. They are needing her now,’ Jaya whispered, looking at the anxious faces about them. Sati shook her head sadly.

To the ashram Sati was the
Devi.
They had made her the God Woman, breathing into her whatever they willed. Many times in the past few days the women had fallen to their knees before Sati, their tears wiping the dust from her feet. Their children were dying, husbands and friends were already dead. Confused and distraught, they feared the future. She could do nothing, yet the touch of her hand on their heads immediately lightened the weight of emotion within them. They drew back and wiped their eyes, better resigned to their fate. It was as if Sati had been captured. As amber sets about something that has once known life, so now the torrent of need that was poured upon her petrified in her veins. Durga had not deserted her. It was Sati who had lost her way to that place within herself where Durga waited for her.

*

Jaya Kapur did not know how long she slept, but when she opened her eyes the whimpers of babies and the snores of old men filled the
small space at the bottom of the steps like scuffling animals. She pulled herself up and leaned back against the wall. Beside her, Sati slept and Mohini dreamed uncertain dreams punctuated by noisy grunts. The stairwell was now filled with grotesque red light from the burning of Fort William. She turned to look down at her granddaughter and stroked the wild mass of her hair. Behind her, a loose brick in the crumbling wall pushed hard against her spine. She turned in annoyance and found that the brick came away in her hands at a touch. Immediately a heavy object fell into her lap. At first she thought it must be a dead rat and was about to scramble to her feet. Then a sudden extra flare of fire from above sent more light down the stairwell. Old Jaya looked down in disbelief. Although she was poised to stand, she sank back on her bed in amazement. In her lap was a small cotton sack of considerable weight. She pulled open the drawstring with trembling hands and tipped out the contents. It did not seem possible, she was sure she was dreaming. Upon her wide lap, sparking like ice in the light of Fort William’s conflagration, were the gems the Chief Magistrate’s
goondas
had dug from the wall of her hut. Jaya rose up with a piercing cry that awoke the Devi Ashram. Babies began to howl, women rubbed their eyes and sat up in fear. Jaya stood before them, arms outstretched, her hands filled with a mound of shimmering light. Slowly their fear subsided and the ashram rose in curiosity to draw near the unearthly fire cupped in Jaya’s hands.

‘It is the work of the Goddess. She has returned to me my diamonds.’ Jaya’s voice was hoarse with emotion. The miracle pulsated through her.

‘Even though she has not shown herself to us for so many days still, she is wanting us to know she is with us. That is why she is giving me back my ornaments.’ Jaya began to sob, tears dripping upon the gems. The Devi Ashram pressed about Jaya in wonder. Govindram took the stones in his hands, incredulous, turning them this way and that. Beside him Mohini stared disbelievingly at the jewels and then at Jaya.

‘You are sure these are the same ones that were stolen?’ Govindram asked.

‘Same ones. If you are not believing me, then look at that
badmash
lawyer’s paper. Everything is listed there,’ Jaya answered.

‘Such things you had in Murshidabad?’ Mohini queried in a whisper.

Pagal crept forward on his knees towards Jaya’s laden hands.
‘Reverence.
Reverence
to
Her.’
He swayed backwards and forwards in prayer.

Sati looked at the jewels and then at the hole in the wall behind her grandmother. ‘Someone has put them there,’ she whispered in Jaya’s ear.

‘The Goddess has put them there. She is choosing this way to show me she is near,’ Jaya reasoned in a low voice that only Sati could hear.

‘She
is
near.
Reverence
to
Her.
She
is
near,’
Pagal chanted and his words flowed back down the dark labyrinthine passages beneath the parade ground of Fort William, echoing into the distance.

For some moments the ashram stood as if stupefied before the miracle in Jaya’s hands. The meaning of the sign reached each person in different ways, but its effect was always the same. In the rush of wonderment, fatigue was forgotten.

As they stood about Jaya, wrestling with the miracle, there were sudden sounds above. Mothers tried to hush their babies, who only screamed louder. The fiery light at the top of the stairs was suddenly blocked out by the entry of the nawab’s soldiers. Jaya quickly thrust her jewels back into their bag and hid them beneath her sari. Then soldiers descended, filling the passages below Fort William, prodding members of the Devi Ashram with musket butts and wooden spears, rounding them up like goats. Soon everyone was pushed up the stairs to face the fire they had fled.

‘You are free to go. The nawab has pardoned everyone but the Hatmen,’ an officer told them.

The Devi Ashram looked at each other in relief as they were
herded into the parade ground. They tried to form the usual protective circle about Sati, but the soldiers demanded they walk two abreast. They were forced to stand so near the blazing shell of Governor’s House that the heat almost seared their flesh. The blaze lit the parade ground like a fireworks display, spitting out light and sparks. Sati looked up at the fiery shell and thought of the Governor’s wife. She wondered if the black papery petals of ash that fluttered down upon them were the charred remains of Mrs Drake’s petticoats, slippers or books.

Jaya placed herself beside Sati, taking her arm in a protective way. Govindram and Mohini walked ahead and Pagal and his family trailed behind. Before them the officer in charge marched about shouting orders. He frowned as he stopped before Pagal, whose pale presence illuminated the Devi Ashram. Then his eyes moved on to Sati. The light of the blaze fell upon her, sparking in her yellow eyes and her wild tortoiseshell hair.

‘Step out here,’ the officer shouted in an agitated way. Another soldier at once appeared.

‘They are Hatmen, disguising themselves to escape,’ the first officer shouted to the others.

Immediately the soldiers thrust the sharp blades of their sabres into the Devi Ashram, cleaving it open. Then, from its midst, as a stone is prised from a piece of fruit, Sati was pulled away and Pagal was dragged out beside her. The women of the ashram began a wail of protest. Govindram stepped forward in fury. Jaya threw herself at the officer in charge, who turned in surprise at her audacity. She shouted to no avail, her voice rising above the crackle of the flames. Govindram attempted to reason with the officer but received a sharp blow with a musket butt. The Devi Ashram was marched away under the threat of guns to the East Gate. Sati and Pagal, under a separate guard, were escorted to the arcade along the east wall.