Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

It was for this reason that the subsequent rout was doubly shocking, to Neel and Compton alike. Thousands of men put to flight by a force of fewer than five hundred! Not only did it defy belief, it challenged every reassuring assumption about the wider conflict, not least those that related to the effectiveness of Indian troops.

Although nobody mentioned the sepoys to Neel, he overheard Compton saying to someone: If the black-alien soldiers had not arrived the battle would have ended differently.

Neel took a perverse satisfaction in Compton’s words for he had tried often, always unavailingly, to alter his friend’s low opinion of the fighting qualities of Indian troops. Committed though Neel was to the Chinese cause, he was aware now of a keen sense of pride in his compatriots’ performance that day. The matter of who the sepoys were serving was temporarily forgotten; he knew that he would have been ashamed if they had failed to give a good account of themselves.

In other ways too the day was a revelation to Neel. He had never witnessed a battle before and was profoundly affected by what he saw. Thinking about it later he understood that a battle was a distillation of time: years and years of preparation, decades of innovation and change were squeezed into a clash of very short duration. And when it was over the impact radiated backwards and forwards through time, determining the future and even, in a sense, changing the past, or at least the general understanding of it. It astonished him that he had not recognized before the terrible power that was contained within these wrinkles in time — a power that could mould the lives of those who came afterwards for generation after generation. He remembered how, when reading of long-ago battles like Panipat and Plassey, he had thought of them as immeasurably distant from his own life, a matter of quaint uniforms and old-fashioned weaponry. Only now did it occur to him that it was on battlefields such as those that his own place in the world had been decided. He understood then why Shias commemorate the Battle of Kerbala every year: it was an acknowledgement that just as the earth splits apart at certain moments, to create monumental upheavals that forever change the terrain, so too do time and history.

How was it possible that a small number of men, in the span of a few hours or minutes, could decide the fate of millions of people yet unborn? How was it possible that the outcome of those brief moments could determine who would rule whom, who would be rich or poor, master or servant, for generations to come?

Nothing could be a greater injustice, yet such had been the reality ever since human beings first walked the earth.

On Zadig Bey’s advice Shireen stayed indoors during the fighting. But Macau was so small that it was impossible to hide from the terrifying sound of cannon-fire: as she paced her darkened rooms Shireen was visited by all manner of dreadful imaginings. It was not till the late afternoon, when Zadig Bey came running to her house, that she learnt that the Chinese troops had been dispersed.

‘Are you sure, Zadig Bey?’

‘Yes, Bibiji, take my word for it, from now on Commissioner Lin will leave Macau alone. We will be perfectly safe here.’

Shireen was inclined to think that Zadig was being too optimistic but his prediction was vindicated soon enough. Within a day or two it was confirmed that all Chinese troops had been withdrawn from the vicinity of Macau. From then on both Macau and Hong Kong became, in effect, protectorates of the British expeditionary force. Foreigners no longer had anything to fear in either place.

The changed circumstances prompted many foreigners to move to Macau, among them the Parsi shipowner, Dinyar Ferdoonjee. Having made a fortune selling opium in the Philippines and Moluccas, he rented a large house that looked out on the bayside promenade of Praya Grande — the Villa Nova.

It so happened that Dinyar Ferdoonjee was a relative of Shireen’s. When he heard that she was living in rented lodgings he went to see her and begged her to move in with him.

Bahram-bhai had helped him get started in business, Dinyar said to Shireen; he owed it to his memory to look after her. Besides, she would be doing him a favour; he had staffed the villa with cooks and stewards from his ship, the Mor , but being only in his mid-twenties, he was unaccustomed to running a household; he would be most grateful if Shireen could take charge.

Attractive as the offer was, Shireen was reluctant to accept, mainly because she thought Rosa would have trouble finding accommodation for herself. But Rosa told her not to worry; she had a standing invitation to move in with a Goan family of her acquaintance.

After that there was no reason not to accept. Within a week Shireen was comfortably settled in Dinyar’s villa. Nor did she regret it: her new living quarters consisted of an entire wing of the villa; and it was pleasant also to be running a household again. Moreover the Villa Nova was in a splendid location, with a fine view of the promenade and the Inner Harbour. Its frontage consisted of a long, shaded veranda: sitting there of an evening, in a rocking chair, Shireen could see the whole town go by on the Praya Grande. Most days Zadig Bey would stroll past too and more often than not she would step outside to join him on his walk.

Dinyar proved to be an unusually congenial and thoughtful host: Shireen had wondered whether he might look askance on her wearing European clothes and going about without a duenna. But it turned out that Dinyar was exceptionally liberal in his views; not only did he applaud her choice of clothing he also declared her to be a pioneer: ‘You’ll see, Shireen-auntie, one day all our Bombay girls will want to dress like you.’

At the same time Dinyar was a proud Parsi, observant in his religious practices and fond of the old customs. He was delighted when Shireen made lacy torans and draped them around the doorways of the Villa Nova.

Shireen was by no means the only person to benefit from Dinyar’s hospitality: he entertained frequently and prided himself on his table — in this, he liked to say, he was merely emulating Bahram, whose generosity and love of good living was a byword on the China coast. Thus, by living with Dinyar, Shireen was able to glimpse an aspect of her husband’s life that she herself had never known.

As the weeks went by other Parsimerchants began to trickle into Macau and the Villa Nova quickly became the community’s meeting place: on holidays the seths would assemble for prayers in the salon; afterwards they would exchange news of Bombay over meals of dhansak , steamed fish, stewed trotters and baked dishes of creamy, shredded chicken: marghi na mai vahala .

But in the end the conversation would always veer around to the questions that most concerned them all: Would the British be able to extract reparations from the Chinese for the opium they had seized? Would the money be adequate? Would their losses be made good?

Shireen was the only person present who did not fret over these questions: rarely had she felt as content as she was in the Villa Nova.

*

In a few short weeks Zachary became so expert in selling opium to offshore buyers that he started seeking out new markets on his own, in remote coves and bays. Almost always his buyers were smugglers from the mainland, members of cartels affiliated with certain gangs and brotherhoods. Once Zachary had familiarized himself with their signals and emblems he had no difficulty in identifying reliable buyers. Nor did language present any difficulty: the negotiations were usually conducted in pidgin, with which Zachary was already familiar through his dealings with Serang Ali. He was well able to bargain on his own behalf.