Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

This entanglement of Mr Mee’s put Kesri in a strange situation for it so happened that he was himself acquainted with this missy-mem. A couple of years before, he had accompanied a hunting party organized by her father, the brigadier-general: he had ended up being assigned to the missy-mem, as a gun-loader. She was a fine shot and that day she had outdone herself, bagging a dozen ducks. For some reason she had chosen to give Kesri the credit, claiming that he had brought her luck. After that she would always insist on having him as her gun-loader when she went hunting.

During duck-hunts, Kesri would sit behind her in the blind, and they would talk. Having been reared by Muslim ayahs the missy-mem could speak fluent Hindustani when she wanted to: she would often ask questions about Kesri’s village, his family and how he had found his way into the Pacheesi. She was the only person to whom he had ever told the story of how Deeti had helped him escape from Nayanpur.

It was she too who was responsible, at least in part, for Kesri’s assignment as Mr Mee’s orderly. Soon after Mr Mee joined the battalion, she had asked Kesri whether he would like to be the new ensign’s orderly. When he said yes, she had told him that she would put in a word for him with Mr Mee.

Kesri had been grateful to her but it had not occurred to him that there might be anything between her and Mr Mee other than the usual casual acquaintanceship that existed between subalterns and the children of senior officers. But in Ranchi, when the rumours began to circulate, he realized that their friendship had been blossoming for a while. It worried him because he knew that his butcha stood little chance of gaining this missy-mem’s hand: Mr Mee had no money and was in no position to get married — having given him several loans already, Kesri was well aware of this. The missy-mem, on the other hand, had many suitors, some of whom were extremely eligible. Kesri did not doubt that when it came to marriage her family would compel her to do whatever was best for her future.

When he overheard others gossiping about Mr Mee and the missy-mem, Kesri would scoff, saying that it was just a friendship, of a kind that was common among sahibs and mems; it meant nothing. But this became harder and harder to maintain: after parties and balls Kesri would hear that the missy had given more dances to Mr Mee than to anyone else, even turning down some high-ranked officers. Then one day a steward whispered in Kesri’s ear that while serving soup at dinner the night before, he had seen Mee-sahib and the general’s larki holding hands under the table.

One day Mr Mee fell ill with a fever and had to absent himself from the social whirl for a while. At the end of the week a summons arrived from the general’s house, for Kesri, to accompany his guests and family on a hunt — and as always he was assigned to serve as the missy-mem’s gun-loader. That day the group was a large one and she was constantly surrounded by people. Only for a few minutes were they alone, and she immediately began to ask Kesri about Mr Mee: How was he? Was he being properly looked after? Then she slipped across a thick pink envelope and whispered: Kesri Singh, can you please give him this, mehrbani kar ke?

Kesri had no choice but to accept: he left the envelope on Mr Mee’s bedside teapoy, without a word of explanation. They never spoke of it, but one day the sweeper who cleaned Mr Mee’s rooms came to him and said that there was some hair lying on Mr Mee’s desk: he wanted to know if he should throw it away. Kesri went to take a look and saw a lock of reddish-brown hair, tied up neatly with a ribbon, lying on top of the envelope.

Kesri realized now that things had taken a serious turn. Risking a berating, he picked up the letter, and the enclosed lock of hair, and handed them to Mr Mee, telling him that it was dangerous to leave such things lying around and that people were already talking. Predictably Mr Mee flew into a rage and shouted at him, calling him a blackguard and telling him to mind his own bloody business and keep his maulers off his things.

Kesri understood then that his butcha was possessed, majnoon , mad with love, and he wished that it had happened for Mr Mee in the same way that it had for himself, with Gulabi — that he too had chosen a woman he could have had. This way he knew there would only be trouble.

It wasn’t long before things came to a head. That year the officers and their ladies had taken up a strange new kind of entertainment, apparently in imitation of a fashion in their homeland. They would ride into the jungle with baskets of food and drink; then they would spread out sheets and blankets and sit down to eat — right there, in the open. This was a great annoyance to the orderlies because they would be taken along, to chase away snakes and keep a lookout for tigers and elephants. It seemed senseless to them that anyone should wish to eat in places where they might themselves be eaten by wild beasts — but orders were orders and they went along and did as they were told.

The worst job of all was to look after the horses, for they were like bait for leopards and were in a constant state of agitation. That day Kesri was attending to a horse when he caught sight of Mr Mee and the missy-mem wandering into the jungle. They were gone long enough that her parents began to worry and asked for a search party to be formed. Since Kesri knew which way they’d gone, he slipped away and went ahead of the others, shouting: Mee-sah’b! Mee-sah’b!

In a while he heard an answer and saw Mr Mee and the missy-mem coming towards him. They looked flushed and dishevelled and Kesri thought at first that this was only because they’d lost their way and had been stumbling about. But then he noticed that there was a new glow on the missy’s face; he saw also that Mr Mee’s collar was disarranged. He knew then that something had happened between them. Trying to banish all expression from his face, he whispered a warning to Mr Mee to straighten his collar.

By the time the couple returned to their party, they had had time to compose themselves and were able to persuade the others that they had merely lost their way. The rest of the day passed without incident — but Kesri knew that the matter wouldn’t end there. He was not surprised to learn, a day or two later, that the missy and her mother had left for Calcutta.

Although the girl was never mentioned between Mr Mee and himself, Kesri knew that his butcha had been hard hit by her departure. The bichhanadar who made his bed would often find her letters under his pillow, and Kesri would sometimes find Mr Mee sitting alone in his room, with his head slumped disconsolately on his desk.

Kesri was glad when the battalion received orders to move back to Barrackpore; he thought the change of scene would be good for Mr Mee. But on arriving at the depot they learnt that the jarnail-sahib’s daughter was soon to be married, to a rich English merchant in Calcutta.

On the day of the wedding, the officers’ quarters were deserted because they were all at the ceremony. Only Mr Mee stayed behind; it was rumoured that he had not been invited.

The next morning Kesri saw that the bichhanadar had put Mr Mee’s pillow in the sun; he touched it and found that it was soaked through.

The cantonment in Barrackpore was large enough that it had a ‘Lock Hospital’, maintained by the army, to ensure that the bazar-girls who were provided for white soldiers and officers were free of disease. Kesri knew that in the past Mr Mee had occasionally visited the ‘Europeans Only’ military brothel in the cantonment’s Red Bazar. That night he found an opportunity to mention to him that he had heard that a nice young girl had just arrived there. In the past Mr Mee had been grateful for tips like these, but this time he shouted at Kesri and told him to mind his own fucking business.