Amitav Ghosh - The Glass Palace

‘Neel!’

‘Apé?’

Rajkumar observed his son’s face closely as he told him the news. He was delighted when he saw Neel’s eyes lighting up; he knew that Neel was glad not merely because of the concluding of a long-hoped-for deal but also because this would be a vindication of his almost childlike belief in his father. Looking into his son’s shining eyes, Rajkumar could feel his voice going hoarse. He drew Neel to his chest and hugged him, holding him tight, squeezing the breath from his body, so that his son gasped and cried out aloud. Between the two of them there had always been a special bond, a particular closeness. There were no other eyes in the world that looked into Rajkumar’s without reservation, without judgement, without criticism — not Dolly’s, not Saya John’s, Dinu’s least of all. Nothing about this triumph was sweeter than the redemption of his boy’s trust.

‘And now, Neel—’ Rajkumar gave his son’s shoulder an affectionate punch—‘and now there’s a lot to be done. You’re going to have to work harder than you ever have.’

‘Apé,’ Neel nodded.

Thinking of all the arrangements that had to be made,

Rajkumar’s mind returned quickly to the matter at hand. ‘Come on,’ he said, starting down the ladder, ‘let’s try to get an idea of what we have to do and how much time we have.’

Rajkumar had sold off all his properties except for the timberyard on the Pazundaung Creek. The creek’s mouth lay at the intersection of the Rangoon and Pegu rivers and it provided quick access to the riverport. Many of the city’s sawmills, warehouses, petroleum tanks and rice mills were concentrated along the banks of this waterway. The yard itself consisted of not much more than an open space, crammed with timber and perpetually wreathed in a fog of sawdust. It was surrounded by a high perimeter wall and at its centre there stood a small cabin, elevated on stilts — a structure that vaguely resembled the tais of upcountry forests, except that it was built on a much smaller scale. The cabin served as an office for Rajkumar.

As he walked around the yard Rajkumar could not help congratulating himself on his foresight in concentrating all his stocks in one place — he’d known all along that the order, when it came, would have to be quickly executed: events had proved him right. But even then the job ahead would not be an easy one. Rajkumar saw that he would require large teams of oo-sis and elephants, coolies and trucks. His own elephants had long since been sold off and, with the exception of a couple of caretakers, all his regular employees had been dismissed. He had accustomed himself to managing with hired workforces.

There was a lot to be done and he wished he had more help. Rajkumar could tell that Neel was trying hard, but he was a town-boy, inexperienced in the timber business. Rajkumar knew that Neel was not to blame for this: it was his own fault for never having encouraged him to work in the timber business.

‘I don’t want to be working with strangers,’ Rajkumar confided to Neel. ‘I’d prefer to have Doh Say. He’d know exactly how to go about this.’

‘But how are we to reach him in Huay Zedi?’

‘We can reach him through Raymond.’ This was Neel’s old friend, Doh Say’s son. He was now a student at Rangoon’s Judson College. Rajkumar thought the matter over and nodded to himself. ‘Yes, Raymond will be able to send him word. We must make sure to go and look for him this evening.’

When Rajkumar and Neel got back to Kemendine, the glow of victory was still bright on their faces. Dolly guessed at once that something was up. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

Both Rajkumar and Neel began to talk at once, in voices that were loud enough to bring Manju running down the stairs, with the baby in her arms.

‘Tell me too. Start again. .’

Now for the first time in many weeks there was a lightening in the atmosphere of the house. Neither Arjun nor Dinu had yet been heard from — but this was an occasion when the anxieties of the war could legitimately be forgotten. Even Dolly, so long the sceptic, finally began to believe that Rajkumar’s plans were about to pay off; as for Manju, she was overjoyed. The whole family piled into the Packard, with Manju holding the baby and Neel in the driver’s seat. Laughing like children, they set off for Judson College, to find Doh Say’s son, Raymond.

It was not long before Christmas now, and the central part of Rangoon was being readied for the festivities. This was the area that housed the big department stores, the fashionable restaurants, the clubs, bars and hotels. It was here too — within range of a few blocks of gabled, red-brick buildings — that most of the city’s churches, schools and other missionary institutions were located. In December this quarter became one of the city’s great seasonal attractions. People flocked in from other neighbourhoods — Kemendine, Kokine, Botataung, Kalaa Bustee — to promenade through the streets and admire the Christmas decorations.

This year the customary bright lights had been forbidden by the air-raid wardens. But otherwise the war had not greatly affected the spirits of the neighbourhood; on the contrary, the news from abroad had had the effect of heightening the usual Christmastime excitement. Among many of the city’s British residents, the war had occasioned a renewed determination to carry on as usual. As a result the big shops and restaurants were just as brightly decorated as ever before. Rowe and Co. — the big department store — had put up its usual Christmas tree, a real pine, sent down, as always, from the Maymyo hills. The tree’s base was surrounded by drifts of cottonwool and its branches were whitened with a frosting of Cuticura talcum powder. At Whiteway, Laidlaw — another large department store — the tree was even larger, with trimmings imported from England.

They stopped at the Scott Market and went to the Sun Cafe, to sample the famous chocolate-covered Yule logs. On the way they passed a Muslim butcher who was tending a flock of live turkeys and geese. Many of the birds bore little wire tags — they had been reserved months in advance, by European families. The butcher was fattening them for Christmas.

Judson College was customarily one of the centres of Rangoon’s Christmas festivities. The college was run by American Baptists and it was one of the best-known educational institutions in Burma.

Raymond was in the college’s red-brick chapel. He was rehearsing Handel’s Messiah with the choir. They sat down to wait, at the back of the chapel, and listened to the massed voices, surging through the arched rafters. The music was glorious and even the baby was lulled into silence.

At the end of the rehearsal Neel intercepted Raymond and brought him over. Raymond was a good-looking, sturdily built young man with sleepy eyes and a doleful smile. He had been studying in Rangoon for three years, and was thinking of a legal career.

Raymond was delighted to see them and immediately undertook to send word to his father. He was confident that he would be able to get word to Huay Zedi within a few days, by means of a complicated network of telegrams and forwarders.

Rajkumar did not doubt for a moment that Doh Say would come immediately to Rangoon to help him out.

Next morning, Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland sent Arjun ahead with Kishan Singh and two other men. The men were armed with their usual Lee Enfield.303 rifles, while Arjun was issued their only Tommy gun.

Shortly before noon, Arjun came upon the plantation manager’s house. It was a squat, two-storeyed bungalow with a tiled roof. It stood in the centre of a clearing that was almost perfectly square. The clearing was surrounded on all sides, by straight, orderly stands of rubber trees. A gravelled driveway snaked across a well-mowed lawn, leading to the front door. The garden was dotted with bursts of colour: the flowers were mostly English varieties — hollyhocks, snapdragons, hydrangeas. At the back there was a tall jacaranda tree with a wooden swing suspended from a branch. Beside it stood an elevated water storage tank. There were beds planted with vegetables — tomatoes, carrots, cauliflowers. A paved path led through the vegetable patch, to the back door. A cat was clawing at the door, crying to be let in.