Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

I had to shut my eyes. When I opened them again I saw that the largest of the junks had begun to move again: apparently this was the only vessel in the Chinese fleet that was still capable of functioning. Although two of her masts were gone, she slowly turned her bows around and fired off a volley. It served no purpose: the two British warships were far away, turning sharply for their next run.

Compton told me the big junk was Admiral Guan’s and handed me his telescope. Putting it to my eye, I caught a glimpse of an elderly man, trying desperately to rally his blood-spattered, reeling crew. In the meantime, the two British warships had completed their turn and were heading back to deliver their second broadside. As they drew abreast, the admiral turned to face them, looking directly into the cannon: it was an act of hopeless defiance.

Once again a curtain of smoke rose from the flanks of the two warships; once again the junks disappeared from view. This time, the sound of the fusillade was followed by a much greater noise, an explosion that sent great sheets of flame and debris shooting into the air. When the blast reached the hill the ground shook beneath our feet. It was clear that they had hit a magazine because a great tower of flame rose from the water.

When the smoke cleared we saw that one of the junks had burst open, like a shattered eggshell. The detonation hurled a mass of flying debris at the surrounding vessels, riddling them with gaping holes.

In the distance, the two British warships were sailing serenely back to their anchorage. They had suffered no damage other than a few minor burns caused by flaming debris.

Around us, many were weeping, including Compton’s nephew.

It’s the end, he sobbed, it’s finished.

Compton put an arm around his shoulders. No, it’s not finished, I heard him say. This is just the beginning.

Infidelity and unfaithfulness were unknown countries to Shireen. When she listened to relatives talking about the trespasses of others — for example a distant cousin who had been found in compromising circumstances with her sister’s husband — she was often more puzzled than shocked. How did such situations come about? What were the words with which these liaisons were proposed? How were they concealed from the khidmatgars and maids and all the other naukar-log?

She was at a loss to understand why anybody would choose to involve themselves in such complicated manoeuvres. Wasn’t it easier to go about things in a normal way? And more pleasant besides?

It astounded her now to think that her own husband had been leading another existence for some thirty years, a life of which she had not had the faintest suspicion. To think of a man who could successfully juggle these two utterly different realities was to conjure up a complete stranger. The most disturbing part of it was the way in which Bahram had reached out from his grave to pull her into this spirit-world, this strange dimension of existence where everything was deceit and trickery. What made it worse still was that she had been drawn into it of her own volition, by arranging to meet Zadig Bey again, alone — and not just to apologize, but mainly because she wanted to learn more about Bahram’s son. What good would come of it she didn’t know — but now that this window had opened she was powerless to turn away from it. To expunge her husband’s child from her mind was no more possible than it would have been to forget her own daughters.

As the trip to Bassein approached she obsessed about all the little things that might go wrong. She knew that the coachmen who drove her to the docks that morning would be under orders to escort her aboard, to make sure that she was comfortably settled in. She knew that when they returned they would be questioned. What would they report to her brothers and their wives? What if they caught sight of Zadig Bey and concluded that the meeting had been pre-arranged?

On the way to the docks her apprehensions grew so acute that she broke a fingernail by nibbling on it too hard. But on arriving she realized that she need not have worried: Vico was nothing if not discreet; he knew exactly what to do and had anticipated every eventuality.

The boat was a fine, two-masted batelo, with a crew of six and a curtained cabin in the middle — an eminently respectable vessel. Zadig Bey was nowhere in sight and there was a chaperone present, notably genteel-looking. Her name was Rosa and her clothing, like her deportment, was reminiscent of a nun: she was wearing a severely cut black dress, with long sleeves and a high neck. Her only adornment was a gold cross.

Vico explained that Rosa was a cousin of his, the daughter of an aunt who had married a Goan; Rosa’s husband had died the year before, leaving her a widow at the age of thirty.

Widowhood created an instantaneous bond between the two women. They linked arms with each other as Rosa talked about her childhood in Goa, and how she had married a master-cannoneer and moved with him to Macau, where he had died. Alone and childless, she had returned to India to return some of his effects to his family.

Zadig Bey did not make an appearance until the batelo had hoisted sail and pulled out into the bay. Nor was there anything awkward about the manner of his entry. Vico gave Shireen ample warning and she had plenty of time to cover her face with her sari.

Then the four of them sat together, drinking tea and nibbling on khakras. Zadig began to talk about watch-making and the atmosphere was so comfortable that Shireen began to feel silly for being in purdah — especially since Rosa, who was so much younger, was sitting beside her without a veil. She allowed her sari to slip off her face and thought no more of it.

Only when Shireen was completely at her ease did Vico and Rosa slip away, on a pretext, leaving her alone with Zadig. To Shireen’s great relief Zadig carried on talking about timepieces so there were no difficult moments of silence. His tact and delicacy went straight to her heart and gave her the courage to say the words that she had prepared.

‘Zadig Bey — I owe you an apology.’

‘For what?’

‘For what I said that day, at the church. I am very, very sorry that I did not believe you.’

‘Please, Bibiji, think nothing of it. To tell you the truth, I was moved by your loyalty to your husband.’

‘Even though he did not deserve it?’

‘Bibiji, this I can tell you — he loved you and his daughters very much. Everything he did was for you.’

Shireen could feel her eyes welling up now, and she didn’t want to waste any time on tears. ‘Tell me about the boy, Zadig Bey. What is he like?’

‘Freddie? What can I tell you? Things have never been easy for Freddie. Bahram did what he could for him — but he could not give him the thing he most wanted.’

‘What was that?’

Zadig smiled. ‘You, Bibiji. Freddie wanted to meet you; he wanted to know you; he wanted to be accepted by you, to be taken into the family. You must understand that Freddie grew up in Canton’s floating city, among the “boat-people”, who are like outcastes in the eyes of many Chinese — and he wasn’t even fully one of them. Yet he knew that his father was rich and had married into a prominent family. He desperately wanted to claim some part of this birthright. He begged Bahram-bhai to take him away from Canton and bring him to Bombay — but Bahram-bhai knew that Freddie would not be accepted, by your family, or by the Parsi community. He knew that it would only make things worse for him.’

There was a catch in Shireen’s throat now, and she paused to clear it.

‘I can’t deny what you say, Zadig Bey: my husband was probably right. There would have been a terrible scandal and my brothers would not have allowed the boy to set foot in the house. Perhaps I too would have refused to meet him. But now that my husband is gone everything has changed. Now that I know about this boy, I will have no rest until I see him. Do you think he might still want to meet me?’