Authors: Amitav Ghosh
Flood of Fire (31 page)
On his way out, when she tried to push some money into his pocket, as she usually did, he brushed her hand brusquely aside. âNo, madam,' he said. âYou insult me if you think that I would rather be paid in silver coin than a few honest words.'
Without waiting for an answer he ran down the stairs.
*
For several weeks, Shireen thought of little else but the journey that Zadig had proposed. Her desire to go was so strong that this was in itself a reason for doubting her motives. Was it in order to escape the house that she wanted to go? Was it out of a vulgar curiosity about her husband's son? Or was it because of a desire to see Zadig again?
These queries milled about in her head, generating other doubts. Would her family's objections be quite as insurmountable as she imagined? Or were the difficulties indeed primarily in her own mind, as Zadig Bey had said?
The only way to find out was to try.
One day in early December Vico came by. While talking to him Shireen suddenly came to a decision.
Vico, she said. I've made up my mind. I'm going to travel to China.
Really, Bibiji?
Vico made no attempt to disguise his scepticism: And what will your brothers say to that?
The question made her bristle. Look, Vico, she said, I am not a child. How can my brothers stop me from going if that's what I want to do? There is nothing scandalous about a widow going to visit her husband's grave. Besides, when I explain to them about recovering Bahram's funds, they will understand â they may not approve, but they are people who understand the value of money.
And your daughters?
They will worry about my safety of course, said Shireen. But if I tell them that I'll be travelling with a companion they'll be reassured. It is true, isn't it, that Rosa would like to go too?
Yes, Bibiji, but you would have to pay for her passage and her expenses. It will not be cheap.
I've thought of that, Vico. Wait.
Shireen went to her room, and returned with a jewellery box.
Vico, look â these are some pieces that I'd kept for myself. Do you think they would cover the costs of the journey?
Reaching into the box, Vico weighed a few of Shireen's pendants and necklaces in the palm of his hand.
These will fetch a lot of money, Bibiji, he said. Certainly enough for your passage, and Rosa's too. But think about it â do you really want to risk it all on this journey?
Yes, Vico, because it will be well worth it, if things turn out right.
Shireen could tell that Vico was still unconvinced, so she dropped the subject: Anyway, don't talk about this yet, Vico. Let me work it out first.
Yes of course, Bibiji. It's a big decision.
Shireen slept very little that night: all she could think about was how best to present her plan to her family.
It was clear to her that she would need her brothers' consent, at the very least, if she was to travel to China: such was their position in Bombay's social and commercial world that no reputable shipowner would grant her a passage if it came to be known that her brothers were against it. The only alternative was to steal off in secret and that was a path that she could not contemplate: if she was to go at all she would have to do it openly, but in such a
way as to silence Bombay's busybodies and bak-bak-walas. This would be no easy thing, she knew, for a great gale of disquiet was sure to sweep through the purdah-ed interiors of the city's mansions when it was learnt that the Mestries' widowed daughter was planning to travel to China, on her own.
After much thought Shireen decided that a scandal of some kind was probably inevitable â but if her family presented a united front it would be of no great consequence; they would be able to weather it. The matter might even be cast in an advantageous light, to show the world that the Mestries, who had been pioneers in industry, were in advance of their peers in other respects as well.
But how was she to bring around her daughters and brothers? How was she to get her way without causing a rupture in the family?
Shireen could see so many obstacles ahead that she took to reminding herself of one of her late father's maxims: to scuttle a boat you don't have to rip out the whole bottom; you just need to remove a few planks, one by one.
The most important planks in this boat, she decided, were her daughters. If only she could enlist their support then it would be much easier to persuade her brothers. Yet she knew also that no one would be harder to convince than her two girls; they would oppose her partly because of concerns about her safety, and partly because they had developed a great dread of scandal after their father's bankruptcy.
Shireen was still wondering how to broach the subject when kismat presented her with an unforeseen opportunity. One night when her daughters and their husbands had come over for dinner the conversation veered of its own accord to China. One of her sons-in-law happened to mention that Bombay's leading shipowners had held a secret meeting. It turned out then that her other son-in-law knew exactly what was afoot: Bombay's wealthiest businessmen were vying with each other to provide support for the British expedition to China. Lakhs of rupees had been pledged, at very advantageous terms, and many shipowners had offered their best vessels to the colonial government to use as troop-transports. It was understood of course that those who were most supportive of the British effort would be the first to be compensated when
reparations for the confiscated opium were extracted from the Chinese goverment.
Although Shireen added nothing to the conversation, she made sure that her daughters stopped fussing with their children and listened to what the men were saying. Later, when she was alone with the two girls, she said: Did you hear what your husbands were talking about at dinner?
The girls nodded desultorily: Wasn't it something about getting compensation, in China?
Yes, said Shireen. Vico tells me that if compensation is paid, our share of it could be as much as two lakh Spanish dollars.
The figure made them start, and Shireen waited a couple of minutes to let it soak in. Then she added: But Vico says that we aren't likely to receive anything at all unless â¦
Unless?
Shireen took a deep breath and blurted it out: Unless I go to China myself!
The girls gasped. You? Why you?
Kain ke
, said Shireen, because a lot of the money that went into your father's last shipment of opium was mine, it came from my inheritance. But if I'm to prove this to the authorities I'll have to go there myself. Vico says that Captain Elliot knew your father; he says that if I go there and petition him directly he will be sympathetic â and your father's friends from the Canton Chamber of Commerce will support me too.
But why do you have to be there in person? Won't the money be paid to us anyway?
No, said Shireen. We can't count on that.
She explained that the money she had given Bahram was considered joint property, and was therefore regarded as a part of his estate. In the normal course of things the estate would be the last to be compensated. But if Shireen were to be personally present when reparations were paid, then Bahram's friends in the Chamber of Commerce would make sure that she was treated like any other investor; she might even be the first to be compensated.
The girls chewed their lips as they thought this over. A good few minutes passed before they started to voice other objections.
But to go there and back could take a year or more, couldn't it?
Ne ahenu bhav su?
What about the cost?
Shireen went to her wardrobe and unlocked the iron safe in which she kept her jewellery.
Look, she said to the girls, I still have some of my
sun-nu
â the gold ornaments I received at my wedding. I had kept them for the two of you â but it would be much better, wouldn't it, if I sold them now and spent the money on the journey? That way they'll bring back ten times as much.
The girls exchanged glances and chewed their knuckles.
But what will people say �
A woman of your age ⦠a widow ⦠travelling alone?
Shireen heard them out quietly, lowering her eyes. When they had finished she said: It's not just the money, you know: I would also like to visit your father's grave before I die. If we tell people that, who could possibly object?
Having planted the thought, she left it to germinate, making no further mention of the matter that evening.
A few days later Vico came by to say that he had received a letter from Zadig Bey: he had now completed his arrangements for travelling to China â he would be sailing on a ship called the
Hind
, which was owned by Mr Benjamin Burnham.
Mr Burnham? said Shireen. Isn't he the one who bought our ship, the
Anahita?
Exactly, Bibiji, said Vico. Mr Burnham was also your husband's colleague on the Select Committee in Canton. Zadig Bey is sure that Mr Burnham would provide a fine cabin for you, on very advantageous terms, if he knew of the circumstances. Zadig Bey will arrange everything â all he needs is a word from you.
Having already told Vico that she had decided to go, Shireen could not back down now. All right, Vico, she said. You can write to Zadig Bey. I met the Burnhams once when they were visiting Bombay â I think they will remember me. Please tell Zadig Bey to go ahead with the arrangements. Somehow or the other I will get my family to agree.
Once they had been uttered, these brave words deepened her resolve: she knew that there was still a long way to go, but the obstacles seemed a little less insurmountable now than they had before. What was more, the mere fact of having a purpose to work
towards energized her as nothing had done in many years. The very textures and colours of the world around her seemed to change and things that had been of little concern to her before â like business, finance and politics â suddenly seemed to be of absorbing interest.
It was as if a gale had parted the purdahs that curtained her world, blowing away many decades' worth of dust and cobwebs.
December 16, 1839
Honam
This morning, when I arrived at the print-shop Compton greeted me with a broad smile:
Naah Ah Neel!
Listen â you're coming to a meeting with the Yum-chai!
At first I thought it was a joke.
Gaai choi
, I said. You're giving me a pile of âmustard cabbage'.
He laughed:
Leih jaan
â seriously: you're going to see Commissioner Lin today.
Faai di laa
â come on! Hurry!
It turned out that I owed this opportunity to the
Sunda
, a British vessel that recently foundered off the coast of Hainan. There were fifteen survivors, including a boy. Most of them are British subjects and on Commissioner Lin's orders they have been treated very well. An official escort transported them from Hainan to Guangzhou and since their arrival here they have been accommodated in the American Factory. They are soon to begin their journey back to England.
Commissioner Lin had asked to meet with the survivors a couple of days ago. Accordingly a meeting was arranged, at a temple within the precincts of the walled city. On Zhong Lou-si's special request I had been granted permission to attend!
If anyone had said to me when I woke up this morning that I would soon be stepping into the walled city I would not have believed them: foreigners are almost never allowed in and I had long despaired of getting past the gates. Nor for that matter had I ever been in the Commissioner's presence â I had only ever set eyes on
kim from afar. The prospect of a close darshan made my head spin.
Compton and I went together to the south-western gate of the walled city where we found a sizeable company already assembled. Among the foreigners there were a dozen or so survivors from the
Sunda
and also several American merchants, including Mr Delano and Mr Coolidge. Among the Chinese there were a half-dozen mandarins and also a few Co-Hong merchants.
For me the most interesting members of the assembly were Commissioner Lin's personal translators: I had heard a great deal about them from Compton, but had never met them, because they live and work within the walled city.
The most distinguished of the translators is Yuan Dehui: a quiet, affable man, he has studied at the Anglo-Chinese College at Malacca and has spent several years in England. He now occupies a senior post in Beijing and is in Guangzhou at the Commissioner's express request. Then there is Lieaou Ah See, a studious-looking man whose âEnglish' name is William Botelho: he is one of the first Chinese to be educated in America, having attended schools in Connecticut and Philadelphia. Another member of the group is a youth barely out of his teens, Liang Jinde, the son of an early Protestant convert. Lastly there is Ya Meng, the son of a Chinese father and a Bengali mother: stooped and elderly, he has spent many years at the Mission College in Serampore, near Calcutta.
Ya Meng still speaks a little Bangla and there is much that I would have liked to ask him. But barely had we exchanged a few pleasantries before gongs and drums began to sound, to signal the opening of the city gates. They swung apart to reveal a broad, straight avenue, lined with soldiers: a series of arches, spaced at regular intervals, rose over the thoroughfare. The houses on either side were of two or three storeys, with green-tiled roofs and upturned eaves: their windows were filled with the faces of curious onlookers.
Much to my disappointment the walk was a short one, allowing barely a glimpse of the walled city: the temple where the meeting was to be held was just three hundred yards from the gate. The entrance to the complex was blocked off by soldiers, but a large and noisy crowd could be seen behind the ranks, jostling for a glimpse of the foreigners.
The venue of the meeting was at the rear of the temple complex. After crossing several courtyards we found ourselves in a large hall that looked like a library, being packed with books and scrolls. At the far end was a raised alcove where chairs had been placed for the Commissioner and a couple of other top officials.
The Commissioner's arrival was heralded by gongs. Everyone in the hall knelt when he entered â all but the foreign merchants who bowed but did not kneel. The Commissioner is stocky in build and was dressed rather plainly in comparison with the members of his entourage. He is of middle age, vigorous in his movements, with a brisk, unceremonious manner. His voice is pleasant and his face good-humoured, with bright, sharp eyes and a wispy beard.
All in all, I have to say that my darshan of the Commissioner was strangely anti-climactic. I'd heard so much about him that I'd imagined that he would be somehow out of the ordinary. But of all the mandarins present he was perhaps the least exceptional, at least in appearance. Where other high officials go to great lengths to create an impression of splendour and pomp, he seems to exert himself in the other direction: this perhaps is the most extraordinary thing about him. His manner is almost grandfatherly â he even patted the English boy on his head and talked to him for several minutes.
Unfortunately the rest of the proceedings offered little of interest. It appears that Commissioner Lin had sought the meeting because he wanted to persuade the Englishmen of the justice of his cause. To this end he had brought along several books and pamphlets on the subject
of opium and the harm it is doing to China (some of these had been brought to his attention by none other than Compton and myself). On the Commissioner's instructions a passage was read out from a European treatise on international law to show that the banning of the opium trade was perfectly compatible with universally recognized legal principles.
The Englishmen listened politely but seemed puzz led that the Commissioner should appeal to them: after all it is not as if they are the kind of men who have their hands on the helm of Empire.
Compton too thought that the meeting was nothing but a waste of time.
Later, when we were back in the print-shop, Compton said that the Yum-chai's chief failing is that he places too much faith in reason. He thinks that if only ordinary Englishmen could grasp the reasoning behind his policy there would be no dispute. In his heart he doesn't believe that any sensible group of men would want to go to war for something like opium. This is why he wanted to meet the se survivors: he now thinks that his best hopes lie in reaching out to ordinary Englishmen. He has lost faith in Captain Elliot and other British officials, he thinks they are corrupt, self-seeking officials who are deceiving the people they are meant to serve.
I suspect he believes that ordinary Englishmen, like the survivors of the wreck of the
Sunda
, can petition their government, as people do in China. He doesn't understand that it isn't the same in England; these men cannot petition their government or do anything to affect official policy.
I suppose everyone finds the despotisms of other peoples hard to comprehend.
