Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

‘A few big bangs,’ observed the officer sagely, ‘can save a great many lives.’

*

When the Bengal Volunteers mustered on the deck of their transport vessel it became clear that the B Company had been very lucky, once again. Apart from a few scratches and cuts the sepoys had no injuries to report. The only casualty was an officer, a young ensign who had fallen while scaling the walls of North Wantung. He had suffered a spinal injury and was in great pain. It was Captain Mee who had brought him back to the transport ship, and he stayed with him while he was waiting to be moved to the holding-ship.

After roll-call Kesri went down to see the captain and found him still in his blood-spattered uniform. ‘Sir, will the ensign-sah’b be evacuated?’

‘Yes,’ said Captain Mee. ‘I’ll take him over to the holding-ship myself; he’ll be sent to Saw Chow or Hong Kong tomorrow.’

Kesri went back to the maindeck and joined the men who were gawping at the eruptions around the Tiger’s Mouth. They watched mesmerized until their trance was broken by a sudden outcry: some lascars were shouting for help as they attempted to pull up an exceptionally heavy weight on the swing-lift.

Kesri and several other sepoys flung themselves on the winch and tugged on the ropes with such a will that the swing came shooting up and was catapulted to the apex of the derrick with its load still cradled in it — and it was now discovered that the load was neither a crate nor a sack but an unusually portly visitor.

For a long moment the mechanism froze, holding the visitor aloft on the teetering swing. The sepoys and lascars stared open-mouthed at the apparition that had suddenly appeared before them — it was as if some supernatural being had risen out of the sea to levitate above the ship.

The skies too seemed to conspire in casting a heavenly light on the suspended figure — for just at that moment an opening appeared in a bank of clouds, allowing a beam of sunlight to shine down upon the swing. Yet, despite the brightness of the light, it was impossible to tell whether the visitor was male or female, man or woman, so strange was the appearance of the apparition: the body, imposing in its girth, was clothed from neck to toe in a voluminous saffron robe; this was topped by an enormous head, undergirded by heavy jowls and set off by a billowing halo of hair. Complementing this extraordinary ensemble of features were two huge eyes, now so filled with alarm that they appeared to be on the brink of shooting out of their sockets, like projectiles.

Suddenly the suspended figure unloosed a thunderous invocation, in a man’s voice: Hé Radhé, hé Shyam!

The cry resonated deeply with the sepoys and they roared back: Hé Radhé, hé Shyam!

The sound seemed to unhitch something within the machinery of the winch and the ropes began to turn again, gently lowering the visitor to the deck.

All this unfolded in a scant minute or two but the effect was electrifying. Kesri realized now that he had seen the visitor somewhere before but he could not remember where. Before he knew it, the words Aap hai kaun? had burst from his lips. Who are you?

My name, came the answer, is Babu Nobo Krishna Panda.

The moment Kesri heard the word panda everything was clear: the robes of auspicious colouring; the sacred invocation — all of this made sense, for a panda was, after all, a kind of pundit. In the past, when visiting temples, pandas had often roused Kesri’s ire with their incessant demands for money — but now the word ‘panda’ sounded like an answer to a prayer: it was as if the sea and sky had conspired to produce a figure who could answer the questions that were buzzing in his head.

Without another word, Kesri led Baboo Nob Kissin to the deck-rails and gestured at the immense columns of smoke that were rising above the surrounding forts.

Punditji, he said, what is all this for? What is the meaning of it? Do you know?

Baboo Nob Kissin nodded. Yes of course I know, he said, as though it were the simplest, most self-evident thing in the world.

Tell me then, punditji, said Kesri humbly. I too want to know.

Zaroor beta , said Baboo Nob Kissin cheerfully. I will certainly tell you: what you are seeing is the start of the pralaya — the beginning of the world’s end.

Arré ye kya baat hai? cried Kesri in disbelief. What is this you are saying?

A beaming smile now lit up Baboo Nob Kissin’s face: But why are you so shocked, my son? Do you not know that we are in Kaliyuga, the epoch of apocalypse? You should rejoice that you are here today, fighting for the Angrez. It is the destiny of the English to bring about the world’s end.

Baboo Nob Kissin raised a hand to point to the burning forts.

Dekho — see, these fires that you see today, you know what they are? They are just kindling. They have been lit in order to awaken the demons of greed that are hidden in all human beings. That is why the English have come to China and to Hindustan: these two lands are so populous that if their greed is aroused they will consume the whole world. Today it has begun.

Kesri’s head was spinning now. I am a simple man, punditji, he said. I don’t understand. Why should I be present at the beginning of the end? Why should you be here either?

Isn’t it clear? said Baboo Nob Kissin in a tone of some surprise. We are here to help the English fulfil their destiny. We may be little people but we are fortunate in that we know why we are here and they do not. We must do everything possible to help them. It is our duty, don’t you see?

Kesri shook his head. No, punditji, I don’t see.

Baboo Nob Kissin put a hand on his head, as if in blessing.

Don’t you understand, my son? The sooner the end comes the better. You and I are fortunate in having been chosen to serve this destiny: the beings of the future will be grateful to us. For only when this world ends will a better one be born.

*

On the Cambridge , which was moored less than twenty miles to the north of the Tiger’s Mouth, a hush fell on the decks when several immense plumes of smoke and dust were spotted in the distance, rising slowly towards the clouds.

The size of the plumes was such that only one conclusion was possible. The forts of the Tiger’s Mouth were on fire.

As reports came pouring in, it became evident that it was just a matter of time before the First Bar was attacked. The only question was when: would the English ships press on that very day or would they wait awhile?

With the passage of the hours the possibility of an immediate attack began to fade: the stretch of water between the Tiger’s Mouth and the First Bar was known to be treacherous and it was unlikely that the English warships would attempt to navigate it so late in the day.

At sunset, when the distant columns of smoke were turning red in the fading daylight, a silence descended on the Cambridge : after many hours of fevered speculation the quiet was almost eerie. When Jodu called the vessel’s Muslims to prayer, there was something serene and reassuring about the sound of the azaan, even for those who were not of the faith.

After the prayers were over, a huddle formed around Jodu who began to speak in a low, earnest voice. The intensity of his expression piqued Neel’s curiosity; he could not resist eavesdropping.

It turned out that Jodu was talking about Judgement Day and how to prepare for it.

Later Neel asked Jodu if he really thought it would come to that. Jodu answered with a shrug: Ké jané? Who knows? But if it does, I want to be ready.

*

A little after sunset a seacunny came to tell Zachary that yet another boat had pulled up beside the Ibis . Leaning over the bulwark Zachary saw that the boat was carrying a single litter: lying in it was a very young subaltern, an ensign. He was accompanied by a few dooley-bearers and an officer — none other than Captain Mee.