Amitav Ghosh - The Glass Palace

‘But where to?’

‘To Singapore; you’ll be safe there. It’s very well defended. We’re too close to the border here. . and you have to take your grandfather with you. You’ve got to leave.’

She shook her head, violently. ‘I don’t want to. I don’t want to go.’

‘Alison, you can’t just think about yourself.’

‘You don’t understand, Dinu — I’m a territorial animal. I’d rather take a few of them with me than give up what’s mine.’

‘Alison, listen to me.’ Dinu gripped her hands and shook them. ‘You have to do it. . For your grandfather’s sake, if not your own.’

‘And what about the estate?’

‘Ilongo will run it while you’re away. . You’ll see. . You can trust him, you know that.’

‘And you — you’ll come with us, of course. Won’t you?’ ‘Alison, I should go back, to Burma. . My family. . They might need me now.’

‘But you could come to Singapore with us first; you could probably get a ship there. It might even be easier.’

Dinu paused to think. ‘You may be right. Yes. . I’ll come.’

She reached for his hands. ‘I don’t think I could bear to go without you. Especially now.’

‘Why now?’

She dug into his chest with her forehead. ‘Because I think I’m in love with you, Dinu — or something like that at any rate. I didn’t know it before, but I know it now.’

He pulled her closer. He did not care what had happened between her and Arjun; nothing mattered but this — that she loved him and he loved her. Nothing else was of any account, not the planes, not the bombs, nothing but this. This was what happiness was — he’d never known it before; this melting away, this exaltation, your guts spilling into your head, filling your eyes — your mind transformed into your body, your body instinct with the joy in your mind; this sensation of reality having met its end.

Although the sunset was still a few minutes away, under the rubber trees it was already dusk. Arjun had heard many complaints about the terrain over the last few days, but it was only now that he became fully aware of the peculiar deceptiveness of his surroundings. He had a strange sense of having stepped into a picture that had been created with the express purpose of tricking the eye. At times the tunnels of foliage around him seemed still and empty, but moments later they appeared to be alive with movement. With every step, figures and shapes seemed to appear and disappear, as rows of trees fell into and out of alignment. Every gracefully arched tree held the promise of cover, yet there was no point that did not intersect with a perfect line of fire.

Arjun knew that many others had taken shelter in the plantation; at times he could sense their presence around him. Every now and again he’d hear whispers, or the sound of footsteps, echoing down the long, straight corridors that stretched away from him in every direction. Sometimes he’d hear a sound, somewhere close at hand. He’d spin around only to find that he’d stepped on a branch that was hidden under the carpet of dead leaves on the ground. It was impossible to distinguish form from shadow, movement from stillness— the real and the illusory seemed to have merged without seam.

Just as twilight was turning to darkness, he heard the click of a safety catch. A whisper followed, from somewhere nearby. ‘ Kaun hai ? Who is it?’

The voice sounded familiar, but Arjun waited until he heard the whisper again: ‘ Kaun ?’

This time he was certain. ‘Kishan Singh?’

‘Sah’b.’

Arjun took a couple of steps to his right and found himself face to face with his batman. ‘How did you find me?’ He acknowledged Kishan Singh’s salute gravely, trying not to reveal the full extent of his relief.

‘Buckland-sah’b sent me,’ Kishan Singh said.

‘Where is he?’

‘Over there.’

It turned out that Kishan Singh had escaped into the plantation with a dozen others from the battalion. They’d succeeded in keeping together through the confusion that had followed the Japanese tank attack. Eventually they’d met up with Hardy as well as Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland. Captain Pearson was still missing. They were now keeping watch to see if they could intercept anyone else.

Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland was sitting with his back against a tree trunk, his right arm cradled in an improvised sling. He acknowledged Arjun’s salute with a nod and a slight gesture of his left hand.

‘Glad to have you back with us, Lieutenant.’

Arjun was elated to hear his wry voice again. He grinned.

‘Glad to see you too, sir. How bad’s your arm?’

‘Just a graze — and it’s been seen to. Fortunately we have a medical chap with us.’ Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland gave Arjun a stiff-lipped smile. ‘Do sit down, Roy. No need to stand on ceremony now.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Arjun cleared a place for himself on the carpet of dead leaves.

‘You’ll be glad to know that Hardy made it too,’ Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland said. ‘I’ve sent him off to forage for water. We’re very short.’

‘It happened so fast, sir.’

‘Yes, it did rather, didn’t it?’ Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland’s voice faded away. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse, rasping, almost unrecognisable.

‘Tell me, Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘do you think I let the side down?’

There was something about his tone that moved Arjun. ‘No, sir,’ he said vehemently. ‘There was nothing you could have done, sir.’

‘There’s always something one could have done.’

‘But what could you have done, sir? We didn’t have any air support. We didn’t know about the tanks. It’s not our fault, sir.’

‘If you’re in command it’s always your fault.’

They were quiet again for a while. Presently the Lieutenant-Colonel said: ‘Do you know what I’ve been thinking of, Roy?’ ‘Sir?’

‘The Nursery — in Saharanpur. I remember when it was built. My father was CO at the time, you know — and the 1/1 Jats were still called the Royal Battalion. We were away in Simla for the summer and when we came back there it was — the building that would come to be known as the Nursery. There was a ceremony and a burra khana for the men. My mother cut a ribbon. I remember how proud I was to see our colours hanging there — moth-holes and all. This was what got me started on military history. By the age of ten I knew our battle honours by heart. I could have told you exactly how Jemadar Abdul Qadir got his Victoria Cross. I was in my last year at school when the Royal Battalion went to the Somme. I came across something that Field Marshal Sir John French said in a speech and I cut it out.’

‘What did he say, sir?’

‘Something to the effect of: “The Jats will never be forgotten on the Western Front.”’

‘I see, sir.’

The Lieutenant-Colonel’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And what do you think they’ll say about what happened to us today, Roy?’

Arjun replied quietly: ‘I think they’ll say we did what we could under the circumstances.’

‘Will they? I can’t help wondering. This was one of the finest units in one of the finest armies in the world. But today we were dispersed without being able to return fire. I will have to live with the knowledge of that for the rest of my life.’

‘You can’t blame yourself, sir.’

‘Really?’ Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland was quiet again. In the silence that followed Arjun became aware that it was raining and the canopy had begun to release its usual slow, unvarying drip.

‘Sir.’ Hardy stepped suddenly out of the darkness, taking them by surprise. He handed the CO a green bottle. ‘Water, sir.’