Authors: Amitav Ghosh
Flood of Fire (37 page)
From that day on the barrier that separated Baboo Nob Kissin's spiritual and material lives had begun to dissolve. Till then he had always been careful to separate the sphere of his inward striving from the domain of his profane existence as a cunning and ruthless practitioner of the worldly arts who prided himself on promoting the interests of his employer, Mr Benjamin Burnham. The transformation initiated by Zachary's arrival had swept away the embankment that separated the two rivers of Baboo Nob Kissin's being; like a tide surging over a bund, the love and compassion of his inner life had flooded into the channel of his gomusta-dom and the two streams had gradually merged into one vast, surging flow of love and compassion.
None of this would have happened, Baboo Nob Kissin knew, but for Zachary's advent into his life: this was the emissary's singular gift: that he possessed the power of animating mighty emotions in the hearts of all who came into his orbit â love and desire, rage and envy, compassion and generosity. Yet â and this too was a sign of who he was â the youthful emissary was utterly unaware of the effect he had on those around him.
The trance was not broken even when Zachary opened his eyes, and snapped irritably, âHey Baboo, I didn't hear you knock. What're you gawpin at like that?'
âLike what?' said the gomusta.
âLike a pig lookin at a turd.'
Baboo Nob Kissin was not unused to being sharply addressed by the vessel of his devotion; indeed he expected and even craved these outbursts, thinking of them as reminders of the obstacles that lay strewn upon the path he had embarked upon. But for the
sake of appearances, he made a pretence of huffiness, puffing up his chest in indignation until it filled out his capacious alkhalla robe: âArré? But who is staring? Just only looking and keep-quieting. Why I should stare? Mind also has eyes no? Earthly forms are not necessary for those who can perceive hidden meanings.'
As with many of the gomusta's utterances, the meaning of this pronouncement was lost on Zachary. âJust wish I'd known you were coming, Baboo,' he grumbled. âShouldn'a jumped me like that â knocked me flat aback.'
âHow to inform? Too much busy no? After returning back from China with Burnham-sahib, I was issued orders to go to Ghazipur to inspect opium harvest. As soon as I could make my escapade I came to catch hold of you.'
âSo how was your voyage to China then?'
âNothing to grumble, all in all. And I also have a good news for you.'
Zachary sat up and pulled on his shirt. âWhat is it?'
âI paid call on Miss Paulette.'
This brought Zachary quickly to his feet. âWhat? What was that you said?'
âMiss Paulette,' said the gomusta, beaming; âI met her on island called Hong Kong. She has obtained employment as assistant to an English botanist. They have made nurseries on the island, where they are putting all junglee trees and flowers.'
Zachary turned away from Baboo Nob Kissin and sank on to the bed again. It was a long time since he had thought of Paulette; he recalled now with a twinge of nostalgia his nightly quarrels with her and how she would step out of the shadows to come to him â but then he remembered also that this Paulette was merely a phantom, born of his own imaginings, and that the real Paulette had subjected him to a deception that he would not have discovered but for Mrs Burnham.
He rose to his feet, scowling, and turned to Baboo Nob Kissin. âDid Paulette ask about me?'
âMost certainly. A copy of
Calcutta Gazette
had fallen on her hands and she had read the report about you. She was cognizant that all charges were cleared off your head and you were planning to proceed to China. She made copious inquiries about when you
would come. She is getting heartburns all the time waiting, waiting. I told that most probably you will sign up on a ship and go. After all you are sailor, no?'
Zachary response was instantaneous. âNo, Baboo. I'm sick of that shit â sailing, risking your life every day, never having any money in your pocket. I don't want to be one of the deserving poor any more.' He sighed: âI want to be rich, Baboo; I want to have silk sheets and soft pillows and fine food; I want to live in a place like that.' He pointed in the direction of the Burnham mansion. âI want to own ships and not work on them. That's what I want, Baboo; I want to live in Mr Burnham's world.'
Zachary's incantatory repetition of the word âwant' sent a shaft of illumination through Baboo Nob Kissin: he remembered that Ma Taramony had always said that the present era â Kaliyuga, the age of apocalypse â was but a yuga of wanting, an epoch of unbounded craving in which humankind would be ruled by the demons of greed and desire. It would end only when Lord Vishnu descended to the earth in his avatar as the destroyer Kalki to bring into being a new cycle of time, Satya Yuga, the age of truth. Ma Taramony had often said that in order to hasten the coming of the Kalki a great host of beings would appear on earth, to quicken the march of greed and desire.
And it struck Baboo Nob Kissin suddenly that perhaps Zachary was the incarnate realization of Ma Taramony's prediction. With that everything fell into place and he understood that it was his duty to assist Zachary in his mission of unshackling the demon of greed that lurks in every human heart.
As to how it could be done Baboo Nob Kissin knew exactly the right means: a substance that had a magical power to turn human frailty into gold.
âOpium is the solution,' he said to Zachary. âThat is how people can be made to want: opium can stroke all desires. That is what you must do: you must learn to buy and sell opium, like Mr Burnham. You are most apt for the part.'
âI don't know about that, Baboo,' said Zachary. âI've never had a head for business â don't know if I'd be any good at it.'
Baboo Nob Kissin clasped his hands together, in an attitude of prayer. âDo not worry, Master Zikri â if you channelize energies
and indulge in due diligence, you will excel in this trade. You will even surpass Mr Burnham. For thirty years I have done gomusta-giri â all the know-hows are in my pocket. I will intimate everything to you. If you burn the candle and by-heart all my teachings then you will quickly achieve success. Must exert to win, no?'
âBut where do I begin, Baboo? How do I start?'
Baboo Nob Kissin stopped to think. âHow much money you have got?'
âLet's see.' Reaching under his mattress Zachary pulled out the pouch that contained the money that Mrs Burnham had given him over the last few months. Some of it had gone to the Harbourmaster's office, for the settling of his debts, but a good deal still remained: when he untied the string and upended it over his bed, the coins tumbled out in a stream of silver.
âBy Jove!' cried Baboo Nob Kissin, goggling at the glinting pile of metal. âMust be at least one thousand rupees. How you got so much?'
âOh, I've been doing a few odd jobs,' said Zachary quickly. âAnd I've been careful to save too.'
âGood. This is enough to start â and gains will come quickly.' âSo what do I do next?'
âWe will start tomorrow only. You must meet me at Strand, with money-purse, at 5 p.m. Kindly do not be late â I will be punctually expectorating.'
February 18, 1840
Honam
Yesterday was the day of the Lantern Festival. During the preceding fortnight, after the start of the festivities of the Chinese New Year, the city had become a vast fairground. Everybody stopped working and many people left to visit their villages. In the evenings the streets would erupt with merry-making; the sky would light up with fireworks and the waterways would fill with brightly lit boats.
The days went by in a whirl of revelry with the words
Gong Hai Fatt Choy!
ringing in ones ears wherever one
went. Sometimes I celebrated with Compton and his family, sometimes with Asha-didi, Baburao and their children and grandchildren on the houseboat. Every day Mithu would bring me auspicious delicacies from the kitchen: long, long noodles, never to be snipped for fear of cutting short one's life; golden tangerines with leaves attached; fried rolls, to invoke ingots of gold. By the end of it, I confess, I was quite worn out: it was a relief to set off as usual today, for a quiet day's work.
But it proved to be anything but that. Around mid-morning, Compton and I received an urgent summons from Zhong Lou-si. We were both asked to present ourselves immediately at the Consoo House.
I guessed immediately that the summons had something to do with the ongoing saga of the
Cambridge
, which both Compton and I had been following with keen interest. The vessel has been becalmed for a while because of a paucity of crewmen â a very unexpected thing, since Guangdong is a province of sailors after all. There's even a saying here: âseven sons to fishing and three to the plough'. Yet a long search produced fewer than a dozen men who were both willing and able to sail an English-style vessel.
It isn't that Guangdong lacks for men with experience of working on Western ships. But most of them are reluctant to reveal that they have travelled abroad for it is considered a crime to do so without informing the authorities. This fear is particularly vivid in the community of boat-people, who have often been mistreated by the authorities in the past. This was a major hurdle, since most of the sailors in the province are from this community â very few came forward when the authorities went looking for volunteers. Things reached a point where it seemed that the
Cambridge
might never hoist sail.
Compton had been hinting for a while that Zhong Lou-si has been contemplating some unusual measures. Today in the Consoo I discovered what they were.
The Consoo â or âCouncil House' â is situated behind
the foreign factories, on Thirteen Hong Street, cater-corner to the entrance of Old China Street. It is surrounded by a forbidding grey wall and looks much like a mandarin's yamen. Inside there are several large halls and pavilions, all topped with graceful, upswept roofs.
We were led through the compound's pathways to a pavilion deep in the interior of the complex. It was a chilly day and the windows were closed but we could see the outlines of a number of men through the moisture-frosted glass: they were seated as if for a meeting.
Stepping in through a side door we went to join a group of secretaries and attendants, who were standing huddled against a wall, chatting in low voices
lo-lo-si-si
. In the middle of the room, seated in stately armchairs, were a half-dozen officials, formally dressed, in panelled gowns, with their buttons and other insignia prominently displayed. As the seniormost member of the council, Zhong Lou-si was seated at the centre of the group.
The proceedings started with the banging of a gong. This in turn set off a relay of chimes that receded slowly into the hidden recesses of the building. A silence descended, through which many feet could be heard, shuffling along a corridor. Then a group of five manacled men appeared, escorted by a squad of tall, armour-c lad Manchu troopers.
The prisoners were dark-skinned and dishevelled; hushed whispers of
haak-gwai!
and
gwai-lo!
greeted their entry. Even I was startled by their wild and wasted appearance. They looked as if they had been dragged out of a dungeon: neither their hair nor their beards had been trimmed in a long time and their eyes were sunken, their cheeks hollow. Their clothing, which seemed to have been especially provided for the occasion, was akin to the usual costume of Cantonese boatmen â loose tunics and pyjamas â but I knew at a glance that they were lascars. They had tied rags and scraps of cloth around their heads and waists, like the cummerbunds and bandhnas that lascars like to wear.
The guards positioned the prisoners to face the officials, and Compton and I went to stand beside them. A couple of questions revealed that the prisoners' preferred language was Hindustani, so it was decided that I would translate their words into English and Compton would then relay them to the officials, in formal Chinese.
Zhong Lou-si asked the first question: Can you ask these men why they were imprisoned?
When I put the question to the prisoners, it became clear that they had already appointed a spokesman to speak on their behalf: he was not particularly imposing in appearance, being slight in build and only of middling height. But there was an alertness in his eyes and a confidence in his bearing that set him apart from the others. His face was wreathed in a curly beard and his sharp eyes were sheltered by a brow that would have stretched across his forehead in a single, bushy line had it not been divided by a couple of deep scars.
He took a step forward, bringing himself closer to me. I saw then that he was even younger than I had thought: his copper-coloured face was completely unlined, and his beard was but the first growth of early youth, still uncoarsened by the edge of a razor.
With every eye on him, the youth made a gesture that took the whole assembly by surprise. He placed his right hand on his heart, closed his eyes, and said, on a note of almost theatrical defiance:
Blsmlttah ar-Rahman ar-Rahiim â¦!
What is he doing? Compton whispered to me.
I answered: He is saying a Muslim prayer.
Only when the invocation had been completed did the youth begin to address the astonished audience. I translated as he spoke: âYou asked how we came to be in prison. It happened right here in Guangzhou, a year ago. We were then in the employment of one Mr James Innes, a British merchant and shipowner. We had been working on one of his ships, as lascars, for some months before that time.'
The youth's Hindustani was fluent, but I noticed that it bore the traces of a Bengali accent.
âOne day, while our ship was anchored at Whampoa, Innes-sahib ordered us to load some chests into two of the ships' boats. He told us that we were to row these boats to his factory, in Canton, the next day. We were not told what was in those chests, but we guessed that it was opium. We said no, we would not go, but Mr Innes threatened us and forced us to follow his orders. The next day, we loaded the chests in two of the ships' boats and rowed them to the foreign enclave. When we arrived at Mr Innes's house there was a raid by customs officials: they opened the chests and found that they contained opium. We were immediately arrested and taken before a magistrate. Then we were sentenced to prison.'
He raised his voice: âWe had committed no crime and broken no law â the whole thing was the doing of Mr Innes. Yet it is we who have been made to suffer. Nothing could be more unjust!'
After I had translated this for Compton, I turned towards the young lascar and saw that he was looking directly at me: he had narrowed his eyes as though he were trying to peer into a darkened room. Then suddenly the expression on his face changed and I had the disconcerting feeling that I had been recognized.
I looked away, startled, my mind racing. After a moment I glanced at the lascar again, and now recognition dawned on me too, all of a sudden: I realized that the youth was none other than my fellow fugitive, Jodu, from whom I had parted at Great Nicobar Island, following on our joint escape from the
Ibis
.
I could not have imagined that two pairs of eyes looking into each other could create such an extraordinary impact: it was as if a bolt of lightning had gone through me.
We both turned quickly away, fully aware that we were being watched by many people. Meanwhile, Compton had
begun to translate the council's response: I heard him out and turned to face Jodu.
Listen, this is what I've been aske d to tell you. The council is willing to make you an offer: the Province of Guangdong has recently acquired a ship, built in the European fashion. Experienced seamen, familiar with the functioning of such vessels are needed for the crew. If you agree to serve on this vessel, for one year, then your sentences will be commuted and you will be set free at the end of that period. Is that acceptable to all of you?
Jodu gave me a nod and stepped away to confer with the others. He returned a few minutes later.
Tell the mandarins, he said to me, that what they are offering us will involve much danger and hard work. We will agree to it only if we are paid proper wages, equivalent to what we would have earned if we were working on a ship at sea â the equivalent of ten sicca rupees a month, which is equal to two Spanish dollars.
It seemed to me that he was in no position to make demands so I said to him in an undertone: Are you sure you want me to say this?
Jodu answered with an emphatic nod, so I translated his words faithfully. I did not think anything would come of it: knowing the ways of Chinese officials I fully expected that Jodu and his friends would meet with a summary refusal.
For a while it seemed that my fears were well-founded â but then, after a heated discussion, Zhong Lou-si made an intervention that took the matter in a different direction.
He told me what to say and I explained it to Jodu: The Chinese officers are willing to give you what you asked for, but they have certain conditions. They will pay your salaries as a lump sum at the end of your period of service. In the interim you will be provided with rations and supplies and you will also be given a small allowance for expenses. At the end of your service, if your work has been satisfactory, you will be paid a bonus equivalent to a month's
wages. Moreover, if your vessel succeeds in sinking any enemy ships you will be rewarded with a prize equivalent to two months' wages; and if you capture an enemy ship then you will be given a share of the spoils. But it must be clearly understood that you will all bear collective responsibility for your conduct: in the event of an attempt to desert, or of treachery of any kind, the agreement will be annulled; your wages will be forfeit and you will stand trial for treason, the penalty for which is death. If you accept all of this then agreements will be drawn up to that effect.
The lascars had been listening carefully and they needed only a few minutes to make up their minds.
Tell them, Jodu said to me, that we have conditions of our own. Tell them we are all Muslims so our provisions must be halal and they must be provided by tradesmen of the local Hui community, as is done in our prison, for Muslim prisoners. If we are near Guangzhou then on the last Friday of every month, we must be allowed to visit the Huaisheng mosque, in the city. Tell them that we know from experience that in China people are often suspicious of foreigners so we will expect them to provide adequate protection for us in order that we may have peace of mind and serve to the best of our ability.
Here Jodu paused for a moment.
And tell them, he resumed, that if they agree to all of this then they need not fear for our loyalty. We are men of our word and we would never be disloyal to the hand that provides our salt.
Once this had been translated, Zhong Lou-si and the other officials rose to their feet and withdrew to another room to deliberate in private. In the interim, much to my disappointment, the lascars were led back into the interior of the building: I had hoped that Jodu and I would have a little time to talk.
My rapport with Jodu had not escaped Compton. He asked if I knew him and I said we had once sailed on the same ship. I also said that I would like to speak with him if possible.
Compton did not think this unreasonable; he asked me to find out if Jodu and the lascars are honest and reliable men. He has promised to arrange for him to visit me, in my lodgings.
I came back to the houseboat with my head in a whirl: when Jodu's eyes met mine, in the Consoo House, it was as if our lives had changed. A strange and powerful thing is recognition!
