Amitav Ghosh - The Hungry Tide

Piya turned on her heel and ran to knock on Kanai’s door. “Are you up? You’ve got to see this. Come on out.”

When the door opened, she stepped back in surprise, as if the man before her were not the one she had expected to see. Kanai’s face and body were scrubbed clean and he was dressed in a lungi and vest he had borrowed from Horen. His hair lay plastered on his head, and there was a look on his face so different from his usual expression of buoyant confidence that she was hard put to recognize him.

“Kanai, what’s up? Are you OK?”

“Yes. Just a little tired. But I’m fine.”

“Then come and look at this.” She led him to the bow and pointed to Garjontola.

“What is it?”

“Wait.”

The lights flashed on and Kanai gasped. “My God,” he said. “What are those?”

“They’re glowworms, flashing their lights in rhythm,” said Piya. “I’ve read about it: they say it happens mainly around mangroves.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Me neither,” she said.

They watched intently as the lights flashed on and off, growing brighter as the sky darkened. She heard Kanai clearing his throat and sensed he was bracing himself to say something, but it was a while yet before he spoke. “Listen, Piya,” he said, catching her off-guard, “I wanted to tell you — I’m going back tomorrow.”

“Back where?”

“To Lusibari — then New Delhi.”

“Oh?” She feigned surprise, although she realized now that she had known all along what he was going to say. “So soon?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s time for me to get back to my office. It’ll be nine days tomorrow and I told everyone I’d be home in ten. If I leave early in the morning I’ll be able to make it back to New Delhi by the day after. The people in my office will begin to worry if I’m not there.”

She knew from his voice that he was holding something back. “And is that the only reason you’re going? Because of your office?”

“No,” he said tersely. “It’s also that I don’t really have much reason to stay here now that I’ve finished with my uncle’s notebook. It’s not as if I’m of much use to you. I think you’ll be able to manage perfectly well without a translator.”

“You certainly don’t have to stay on my account,” she agreed. “But if you don’t mind my asking, does your decision have anything to do with what happened today — on the island?”

His answer, when it came, seemed to be pronounced with some reluctance. “This is not my element, Piya,” he said. “What happened today showed me that.”

“But what exactly did happen, Kanai?” she said. “How did you end up on that island?”

“Fokir suggested we go and take a look at it,” Kanai said, “and I couldn’t think of any reason not to go. That’s about all there is to it.”

Despite his evident unwillingness to speak of the incident, Piya pressed him a little further. “Was it Fokir’s fault, then? Did he leave you behind deliberately?”

“No,” said Kanai firmly. “I happened to fall in the mud and lost my temper. He actually wanted to help — I was the one who shouted at him and told him to go away. He’s not to blame.” He pursed his lips as if to tell her that, as far as he was concerned, the subject was closed.

“You seem to have made up your mind,” Piya said, “so I won’t try to stop you. But when are you planning to leave?”

“At daybreak,” Kanai said. “I’ll arrange it with Horen. If we make an early enough start, I’m sure he can get me to Lusibari and be back here by nightfall. I imagine you were planning to spend the day on the water anyway, in Fokir’s boat?”

“Yes, I was,” said Piya.

“Well, then, it won’t matter if the Megha is away during the day, will it? You won’t miss it.”

Piya thought with regret of the hours they had spent together. “No, I won’t,” she said. “I will miss our talks, though. It’s been good to have you along. I’ve enjoyed your company.”

“And I’ve enjoyed yours, Piya.” He paused briefly, as if he were trying to collect himself. “Actually, I was hoping —”

“Yes?”

“I was hoping you’d come too, Piya. To New Delhi, I mean.”

“To New Delhi?” A hiccup of laughter bubbled up in Piya’s throat.

“Does that seem funny to you?” Kanai said.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It was just so unexpected. New Delhi is a long way and I have so much to do right here.”

“I know that,” he said. “I didn’t mean immediately. I meant after you’d finished your survey. I was hoping maybe you could come then.”

Piya was unsettled by the tone of Kanai’s voice. She remembered her first meeting with him on the train and recalled the certainty of his stance and the imperiousness of his gestures. It was hard to square those memories with the halting, diffident manner of the man who stood before her now. She turned away to look in the direction of Garjontola, where the moon was climbing slowly above the horizon.

“What do you have in mind, Kanai?” she said. “Why do you think I should go to New Delhi?”

Kanai pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he were hoping the gesture would help him find the words he wanted. “I won’t lie to you, Piya — I don’t know what I have in mind. It’s just that I want to see you again. And I want you to see me — on my own ground, in the place where I live.”

She tried to think of his life in New Delhi, and she imagined a house filled with employees — a cook, a driver, people to fetch and carry. It seemed as remote from her own life as something she might see in a movie or on television. It was impossible for her to take it seriously — and she knew that no purpose would be served by pretending otherwise.

She reached over to touch his arm. “Listen, Kanai,” she said. “I hear what you’re saying. And believe me, I appreciate it; I appreciate everything you’ve done and I wish you the best. I’m sure one day you’ll meet the woman who’s right for you. But I don’t think I’m the one.”

He nodded resignedly to indicate that this was more or less what he had expected to hear. “There’s so much I want to tell you, Piya,” he said, “and maybe it would be easier to put it into words if I didn’t want to so much. It’s like Moyna says.”

Piya was jolted by the sound of that name. “What does she say?”

“That words are like the winds that blow ripples on the water’s surface. The river itself flows beneath, unseen and unheard.”

“What did she mean?”

“She was talking about how she feels about Fokir,” Kanai said.

“And?”

“He means everything to her, you know, although you wouldn’t think it. She’s terrified he’s going to leave her.”

“And why would he do that?”

Kanai’s voice fell. “Because of you, maybe?”

“Kanai, that’s absurd,” Piya protested. “There’s no reason why she or anyone else should think that.”

“None at all?”

Piya could feel her annoyance growing and she tried to calm her voice. “Kanai — what are you getting at?”

“I’ll tell you what Moyna thinks,” he said softly. “She believes you’re in love with Fokir.”

“And what about you?” Piya shot back. “Do you believe that too?”

“Well are you?”

There was an edge to his voice now and she chafed against its rasp. “Are you asking on her behalf, or are you asking for yourself?”

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know, Kanai. I don’t know what to tell you — any more than I know what to tell her. I don’t know the answers to any of these questions you’re asking.” Raising her hands, Piya clamped them on her ears as if to shut out the sound of his voice. “Look, I’m sorry — I just can’t talk about this anymore.”