Amitav Ghosh - The Hungry Tide

THE INITIAL PART of the journey to Lusibari led through a part of the tide country that was little frequented, and for the first few hours after its departure from Garjontola, the Megha encountered no other vessels, large or small. But then its route brought the bhotbhoti in view of a major seaward channel, the Jahajphoron River, and suddenly the waterways were as inexplicably busy as they had been empty before. With the river’s width lying athwart the bow, it became evident, even from a distance, that there were a great many boats out on the water. This would not have seemed untoward if it were not for the fact that the boats were all heading in the same direction — inland, and away from the sea.

Having had little rest the night before, Kanai had fallen asleep soon after the Megha left Garjontola. He was woken by the sound of Horen’s voice, summoning his grandson from the deck below.

Sitting up in his bunk, Kanai found his clothes and sheets soaked in sweat. He had shut the door at dawn, when the air was still chilly, but now, with hours to go before noon, the cabin’s bulwarks were already radiating heat. Kanai stepped out to find Horen standing at the bow, peering at the broad river ahead while Nogen tended the wheel.

“What’s the matter, Horen-da?” Kanai said as he made his way forward to the bow. “What do you see?”

“Look over there,” Horen answered, raising a hand to point ahead.

Kanai shaded his eyes as he considered the sight. Unused though he was to these waterways, he sensed there was something odd about the traffic in front of them. But the exact nature of the problem eluded him. “All I see is a lot of boats,” he said.

“Don’t you see, they’re all heading in the same direction?” Horen said gruffly. “They seem to be going back to their villages.”

Glancing at his watch, Kanai saw that it was a little after ten in the morning. It struck him that it was early in the day for fishermen to be bringing home their catch. “Why’re they heading back at this hour?” he said. “Isn’t it the wrong time?”

“Yes,” said Horen. “You wouldn’t normally see them going that way until quite late in the evening.”

“So what could the matter be?”

“At this time of year,” Horen said, “it’s usually only one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

Horen shrugged, and his eyes seemed to disappear into the enigmatic folds of his face. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He turned away and went back to the wheelhouse to take over the steering.

It took another ten minutes to cover the distance to the river ahead. Once Horen had executed the turn into the main channel of the Raimangal, he cut the engine so that the Megha drifted almost to a standstill. Then, with Nogen handling the wheel, Horen went to the stern and waited for a fishing boat to draw abreast. Soon a whole cluster of boats gathered there and shouts rang back and forth as the returning fishermen exchanged questions and answers with Horen. Then the boats sailed on and Horen came hurrying back to the wheelhouse, grim-faced and glowering. A muttered command sent Nogen racing down to start the engine while Horen took hold of the wheel.

Kanai was aware of a stab of apprehension as he looked at the set cast of Horen’s profile. “So, Horen-da,” he said, “what is it? What did you find out?”

Horen answered brusquely, “It’s just what I thought. What else would it be at this time of year?”

There was a storm on its way, Horen explained. A jhor. The weather office in New Delhi had put out warnings since the day before that it might even be a cyclone. The coast guard had been out on the Bay of Bengal since dawn, turning back the fishing fleet: that was why the boats were heading home.

“But what about —?” Kanai’s first thought was for Piya and Fokir, out on their boat at Garjontola.

Horen cut him short. “Don’t worry. The storm won’t be on us until midday tomorrow. This gives us plenty of time. We’ll go back to Garjontola to wait for them to get back. Even if they don’t return until late in the evening, we’ll be fine. If we set off early enough tomorrow morning, we’ll be back in Lusibari before the storm hits.”

The engine sprang back to life and Horen used his shoulders to hold the wheel to a tight turn. Within a few minutes, the Megha was heading back the way it had come, retracing the morning’s journey.

It was one o’clock when they reached Garjontola, and neither Kanai nor Horen was surprised to find no one there. Only seven hours had passed since they had waved the boat off that morning. They knew that Piya and Fokir were probably planning to come back to Garjontola much later — in time to meet the Megha on its return from Lusibari, which was scheduled for the end of the day.

One thing puzzled Kanai: the boat was anchored well within sight of the Garjontola pool, yet, although it was low tide, there were no dolphins in the water. He recalled that the dolphins usually gathered there when the tide ebbed, and it was clear even to his unpracticed eye that the water was running low. He went to Horen to confirm this, and was told that this was indeed the ebb tide, the bhata — the jowar would not set in for another two or three hours.

“But Horen-da, look,” said Kanai, pointing toward Garjontola. “If it’s the bhata, then why is the water empty?”

Horen frowned as he took this in. “What can I tell you?” he said at last. “The world isn’t like a clock. Everything doesn’t always happen on time.”

There was no arguing with this, yet in the pit of Kanai’s stomach was a gnawing sensation that told him something was wrong. “Horen-da,” he said, “instead of waiting here, why don’t we set out to look for Fokir’s boat?”

There was an amused grunt from Horen. “To look for a boat here would be like trying to find a grain of grit in a sack full of rice.”

“It won’t do any harm,” Kanai insisted. “Not if we’re back by sunset. If all’s well, the boat will be here then and we’ll meet up with them.”

“It’ll serve no purpose,” Horen grumbled. “There are hundreds of little khals crisscrossing these islands. Most of them are too shallow for a bhotbhoti.”

Kanai could sense his resistance lessening and said lightly, “We’re not doing anything else, after all — so why not?”

“All right, then.” Bending over the gunwale, Horen shouted to Nogen to start the engine and draw anchor.

Kanai stood leaning on the wheelhouse as the bhotbhoti pulled away from Garjontola and headed downriver. There was not a cloud in the sky and the landscape seemed tranquil in the soporific heat of the afternoon sun. It needed some stretching of the mind to imagine that bad weather could be on its way.

THE TIDE WAS TURNING when at last Piya caught sight of a dorsal fin: it was half a mile or so ahead of the boat, very close to the shore. A quick read of the dolphin’s position showed it to be almost twelve miles southeast of Garjontola. When she put the binoculars back to her eyes she made another discovery — the dolphin she had spotted earlier was not alone; it was accompanied by several others. They seemed to be circling in the same place, much as they did in the Garjontola pool.

She saw that the water was still at midlevel, and a look at her watch told her that it was three in the afternoon. She was conscious now of an excitement similar to that which she had felt when Fokir first led her to the dolphins at Garjontola. If several dolphins had congregated here at low tide, surely it could only mean that this was yet another pool and these dolphins were from another pod? This seemed like the best news she could have had, but a glance at Fokir’s face was enough to indicate that something was not quite right — there was a cautionary look in his eyes that put her on guard.