Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

Shireen was startled to be greeted in Gujarati, and that too in a fashion that suggested that the man knew who she was. But then, looking at him more closely, she realized that he was a member of the Anahita ’s original crew. As with many others in that contingent he had been with her family even before the ship was built, having been recruited from Kutch, as a boy, to work on her father’s own batelo yacht.

Ghagguji? said Shireen. Is it you?

Ji, Bibiji.

He was pleased to be recognized and a wide grin spread slowly across his bearded, weather-beaten face.

Are you still working on the Anahita then?

The serang nodded in affirmation: Mr Burnham had retained the Anahita ’s crew in its entirety, he said. Every man on the ship had once worked for Seth Bahram; she was ‘Bibiji’ to all of them and the news that she was coming aboard that day had caused much excitement on the vessel.

Bibiji, said the serang, the timbers of the Anahita may have changed hands, but her spirit will always belong to you and your family. Ships are like horses, Bibiji; they remember the people who rear them.

The affinities of mutual recognition seemed to deepen as the pinnace moved ahead. Shireen had no difficulty in picking out the Anahita amidst all the other vessels that were at anchor in the channel: neither a merchantman nor a warship, she had the sleek elegance of a pleasure yacht.

The Anahita too seemed to stir in recognition as the pinnace drew up: many of her crewmen flocked to the bulwarks, craning their heads over the deck-rails to catch a glimpse of the returning Bibiji. Their enthusiasm embarrassed Shireen — it was almost as though she were coming back to claim an inheritance that had been seized by usurpers. She could not help wondering whether her hosts would be affronted by her reception.

But if Mrs Burnham was put out she gave no sign of it; she greeted all three of them with great cordiality but was especially warm to Shireen. Linking arms with her, she said: ‘You must know this ship very well, don’t you, Shireen dear?’

‘Yes, so I do.’ Shireen was glad to see that Mrs Burnham was completely recovered from her attack of ill-health: she was wearing a very becoming evening gown, of a primrose colour with a high, roxaline bodice and ballooning mameluke sleeves.

‘Would you and your friends like to take a dekko at the after-quarters, for old times’ sake?’

‘That would be very nice. Yes, thank you.’

‘Well come on then,’ said Mrs Burnham, ‘I’ll show you around before everyone else arrives.’

Shireen had expected to find the interior of the Anahita much changed, and so indeed it was. The companion-way that led to Bahram’s suite of cabins had once been decorated with paintings and carved panels, featuring Zoroastrian and Assyrian motifs. The pictures and woodwork were gone now; there were no images anywhere to be seen.

A still greater surprise awaited at the far end of the gangway where lay the ‘Owners’ Suite’. This was the most lavishly appointed part of the vessel and had been especially designed to serve as Bahram’s personal living quarters. It was here that he had always slept, in a large, richly decorated cumra with windows that overlooked the Anahita ’s stern.

Shireen had assumed that the Burnhams, as the new owners, would take that suite for themselves — but when the door swung open she saw to her surprise that it was being used, instead, as a baggage hold. A great jumble of furniture was piled up inside — chairs, tables, disassembled bedsteads, settees, chaises-longues, even an upright pianoforte. One of the two windows was wide open.

‘I’m afraid this suite has had its troubles,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘We were hit by a squall as we were approaching the China coast and the windows in this cumra flew open. The whole suite was flooded and will have to be completely refurbished, at a shipyard — until then we’ve decided to use it as an attic.’

She raised a hand to point aft. ‘Look at that window over there. I told a kussab to shut it just a few minutes ago but I suppose the budmash forgot.’

Freddie took a step towards the window. ‘You want me to close it, lah?’

‘Would you please?’

After shutting the window Freddie stepped back to look towards the reddening horizon, through the glass.

‘Bahram-bhai loved those windows,’ said Zadig. ‘I remember so well how he would lie in his bed, gazing into the distance.’

These words, evocative as they were, conjured up for Shireen so vivid an image of her husband that it was as if he had himself appeared within the darkening shadows, to watch the sunset. At home in Bombay too she had often seen him in that attitude, gazing at the sea with a pensive, slightly melancholy air. She had sometimes wondered what was on his mind and it struck her now that he must have been thinking of Canton: of his mistress and his son, Freddie, who, at this very moment, was looking out of the window in a manner that was strangely reminiscent of his father.

Or was it just that the cabin was so saturated with Bahram’s memory that it seemed to conjure up his very presence?

A shiver went through Shireen. ‘Please, Cathy,’ she said. ‘I think I need some fresh air.’

‘Why yes, of course,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘It’s rather musty in here, isn’t it? Let’s go back on deck.’

She slipped her arm through Shireen’s and they stepped back into the gangway. As they were heading towards the deck they were waylaid by Baboo Nob Kissin. Captain Mee and sepoys had arrived, he said. The Burra Sahib had asked Mrs Burnham to come to the maindeck, to receive them.

‘Thank you, Baboo.’

Mrs Burnham’s voice sounded languid, almost indifferent — but Shireen, whose arm was still entwined in hers, felt a tremor passing through her body, followed by a distinct quickening in her breath.

‘Cathy? Is something the matter?’

‘Why no,’ said Mrs Burnham in a slightly breathless voice. ‘I’m perfectly theek.’

But even as she said this, she was tightening her grip on Shireen’s arm, leaning on her, as if for support. ‘You know Captain Mee already, don’t you, Shireen? Won’t you come with me to receive him?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Shireen.

They went out on deck to find a line of fifers and drummers filing up the side-ladder. After stepping on board, the boys crossed smartly over to the far end, where the sepoys had already assembled, between the bows.

Captain Mee was the last of the officers to come up the ladder: he cut a splendid figure, in his full dress uniform, with a sword at his side and a scarlet cape slung over his shoulder. As he was stepping on deck Mrs Burnham again tightened her grip on Shireen’s arm, which she had been leaning on all this while. Her agitation seemed to mount as her husband welcomed the captain on board. They stood talking for a minute and then Mr Burnham was led away by another guest — so it fell to Shireen to introduce the captain to Mrs Burnham. And as she was doing it Shireen noticed that Mrs Burnham had turned pale; then her eyes went to Captain Mee and she saw that he too had changed colour, his face growing a bright red. When he took hold of Mrs Burnham’s hand the cockade of his shako, which he was holding under his arm, began to tremble like a leaf. For a minute they both stood tongue-tied, staring at each other; then Captain Mee began to tug at his collar as though he were about to choke.

It was all very puzzling to Shireen and she looked away, wondering whether she was imagining things. But then she noticed that Havildar Kesri Singh was also observing the encounter between Captain Mee and Mrs Burnham with keen interest. When his gaze met Shireen’s he seemed to take it as a signal to intervene and came hurrying over to the captain’s side: ‘Sir — something has come up …’