Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

Desperate though he was to leave, Kesri was reluctant to leave his brother to face their father’s wrath alone. But Bhim reassured him, saying that he would be all right, their father wouldn’t know of his part in arranging Kesri’s departure so he would suffer no consequences. To the contrary he might even stand to benefit, because with Kesri gone he might well be asked to stay on at home, which would suit him nicely. In all likelihood Kesri would himself be forgiven once he started sending money home.

Kesri had never known his brother to think anything through so carefully. Was it you who came up with this plan? he said. Did you think of it yourself?

Bhim shook his head. Me? No. It was Deeti. It was all her doing. She told me to seek out Bhyro Singhji and she told me exactly what to say to him. She thought of everything. Even this.

He handed over a cloth bundle: It is a spare dhoti and some sattu. That is all you’ll need. Now hurry!

September 2, 1839

Guangzhou

Yesterday I was again invited to Compton’s print-shop, to meet with Zhong Lou-si.

It was a nice afternoon so we were able to sit outside, in the courtyard, under the cherry tree. For a while we spoke of inconsequential things, and then the conversation came around again, to the question of a British attack on China. Zhong Lou-si was a little more forthcoming today; he gave me to understand that he has been aware of the rumours for some time.

After a while he cleared his throat and spoke in a very gentle voice, as if to indicate that he was broaching a difficult and delicate subject.

Tell me, Ah Neel, he said. You are from Ban-gala are you not?

Haih, Lou-si .

We have heard, Ah Neel, he continued, that in Ban-gala there are many who are unhappy with British rule. It is said that the people there want to rise up in rebellion against the Yinglizi. Is this true?

It took me some time to compose my thoughts.

Lou-si, I said, there is no simple answer to your question. It is true that there are many in Bengal who are unhappy with foreign rule. But it is also true that many people have become rich by helping the British: they will go to great lengths to help them stay in power. And there are others who are happy to have them just because they have brought peace and security. Many people remember the turmoil of past times and they don’t want to go back to that.

Folding his hands in his lap, Zhong Lou-si leant forward a little, so that his eyes bored into mine.

And what about you, Ah Neel? What do you feel about the Yinglizi?

I was caught off-guard.

What can I tell you? I said. My father was one of those who supported the East India Company and I grew up under British rule. But in the end my family lost everything. I had to leave home and seek my living abroad. So you could say, that for me and my family British rule has been a disaster of our own making.

Compton and Zhong Lou-si were listening intently and they exchanged glances when I finished. Then, as if by pre-arrangement, Compton began to speak.

Ah Neel, Zhong Lou-si wants me to convey to you that he is mindful of the help you have given us in the past and very much appreciates it. Earlier this year, during the crisis, you gave us a lot of useful information and advice. He thinks that there is more that we can learn from you — and as I’ve told you he is now in charge of a bureau of translation and information-gathering.

He paused, to let his words sink in, and then continued: Zhong Lou-si wants to know if you would like to work with us. In the months ahead we may need someone who has a knowledge of Indian languages. You would be paid, of course, but it would mean that you would have to live here in Guangzhou for some time. And while you are working with us, you would have to cut off your relations with India and with foreigners. What do you think of this?

To say that I was astounded would not express a tenth part of what I felt: I suddenly realized that I could not answer Compton without picking sides, which is alien to my nature. I have always prided myself on my detachment — doesn’t Panini say that this is essential for the study of words, languages, grammar? This too was why I had liked Compton from the first, because I had recognized in him a kindred soul, someone who was interested in things — and words — merely because they existed. But I realized now that I was faced with a choice of committing my loyalties not just to a friend but to a vast plurality of people: an entire country, and one with which I have few connections.

Faced with this prospect my life seemed to flash past me. I remembered my English tutor, Mr Beasley, and how he had guided and encouraged my reading; I thought of the pleasure and excitement with which I had read Daniel Defoe and Jonathan Swift, and the long hours I’d spent committing passages of Shakespeare to memory. But I remembered also the night I was taken to Alipore Jail, and how I had tried to speak English with the British sarjeant who was on duty there: my words made no more difference to him than the chattering of crows. And why should I have imagined otherwise? It is madness to think that knowing a language and reading a few books can create allegiances between people.

Thoughts, books, ideas, words — if anything, they make you more alone, because they destroy whatever instinctive loyalties you may once have possessed. And to whom, in any case, do I owe my loyalties? Certainly not to the zamindars of Bengal, none of whom raised a finger for me when I was carted off to jail. Nor to the caste of my birth, which now sees me as a pariah, fallen and defiled. To my father then, whose profligacy ensured my ruin? Or perhaps to the British, who if they knew that I was still alive, would hunt me to the ends of the earth?

And as against this, what Compton and Zhong Lou-si were asking of me was to share the one thing that is truly my own: my knowledge of the world. For years I’ve filled my head with things that serve no useful purpose; few indeed are the places where the contents of my mind might be regarded as useful — but as luck would have it, this is one of them. Somehow, in the course of my life, I have acquired a great trove of information about things that might well be useful to Compton and Zhong Lou-si.

In the end it was this — not loyalty or belonging or friendship — that swung the balance: the thought that someone as useless as myself might actually be of use.

I was silent for so long that Compton said: Ah Neel, neih jouh mh jouh aa? Will you do it or not? Or do you need more time to think?

I put down my teacup and shook my head: No, Compton; there is nothing more to think about. I am glad to accept Zhong Lou-si’s offer; I’d be glad to remain here in Guangzhou. There is nowhere else I need to be.

He smiled: Dihm saai — it’s all settled then?

Jauh haih Loi I said. That’s right — it’s all settled.

The costume that Mr Doughty had chosen for the Harbourmaster’s Ball was a simple one: a couple of loosely draped sheets, held in place by a few pins and brooches.

‘A toga, my boy! Best thing the Romans ever came up with! Nautches would be a nightmare without ‘em.’

The sheets and other accoutrements had been laid out in Mr Doughty’s dressing room. Following his host’s lead, Zachary stripped down to his drawers and banyan and then wrapped the sheets around his body.

‘Now bunnow that corner into a little flap and lagow it with a pin — yes, just like that. Shahbash!’

It took a good hour of tucking and folding before the toga was properly bunnowed and lagowed. By the time they stepped into the baithak-khana for a pre-dinner brandy-pawnee, Zachary and Mr Doughty were identically dressed, in costumes that were held together with pins and brooches and finished off, a little incongruously, with socks, garters and polished shoes.