Amitav Ghosh - The Glass Palace

One day, on a visit to Sungei Pattani, Dinu had a glimpse of this exodus. The evacuees seemed to consist mainly of the families of planters and mining engineers. Their cars and trucks were filled with household objects — furniture, trunks, suitcases. He came across a truck that was loaded with a refrigerator, a dog and an upright piano. He spoke to the man who was driving the truck: he was a Dutchman, the manager of a rubber plantation near Jitra. His family were sitting crowded in the truck’s cab: his wife, a newborn baby and two girls. The Dutchman said he’d managed to get out just ahead of the Japanese. His advice to Dinu was to leave as soon as possible— not to make the mistake of waiting until the last minute.

That night, at Morningside, Dinu told Alison exactly what the Dutchman had said. They looked at each other in silence: they had been over the subject several times before. They knew they had very few choices. If they went by road one of them would have to stay behind — the estate’s truck was in no shape to make the long journey to Singapore and the Daytona would not be able to carry more than two passengers over that kind of distance. The only alternative was to go by train — but rail services had been temporarily suspended.

‘What are we going to do, Alison?’ Dinu said.

‘Let’s wait and see,’ Alison said hopefully. ‘Who knows? Perhaps we won’t have to leave after all.’

Late that night they were woken by the crunch of bicycle wheels, rolling up the gravelled drive of Morningside House. A voice called out from below: ‘Miss Martins. .’

Alison got up and went to the window. It was still dark. Parting the curtains, she leaned out, peering down into the drive. Dinu glanced at a bedside clock and saw that it was four in the morning. He sat up: ‘Alison? Who is it?’

‘It’s Ilongo,’ Alison said. ‘He has Ah Fatt with him — from the restaurant, in town.’

‘At this time of night?’

‘I think they want to tell me something.’ Alison let the curtain drop. ‘I’m going downstairs.’ She pulled on a dressing gown and ran out of the room. A few minutes later, Dinu followed. He found Alison sitting in a huddle with the visitors. Ah Fatt was talking urgently, in rapid Malay, stabbing a finger in the air. Alison was biting her lip, nodding: Dinu could see a deepening anxiety in the crimped lines of her face.

In a while Dinu jogged her elbow. ‘What are you talking about? Tell me.’

Alison stood up and took him aside.

‘Ah Fatt says that Grandfather and I have to leave — for Singapore. He says it’s going badly on the front. The Japanese may be able to push through in a day or two. He thinks the Kempeitai — their secret police — have information about us. .’

Dinu nodded. ‘He’s right. It won’t do to wait any longer. You’ve got to go.’ Tears started into Alison’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to go, Dinu. Not without you. I really don’t.’

‘You have to, Alison. Think of your grandfather. .’

‘Miss Martins,’ Ah Fatt interrupted, to let them know that he’d heard that a special evacuation train would be leaving from Butterworth that morning. He wasn’t sure that they’d be able to get on it — but it was worth trying.

Dinu and Alison exchanged smiles. ‘We’ll never get another chance like this,’ Alison said.

‘Let’s wake your grandfather,’ Dinu said. ‘Let’s not waste any time.’

They left early the next day in one of the estate’s trucks. Ilongo drove and Dinu rode in the back with the luggage. Alison sat in front, with Saya John. There was little traffic, because of the time of day, and they arrived in Sungei Pattani in half the usual time. The town was silent: many of the shops and houses were locked or boarded up. Some had notices hanging outside.

A short way from town they picked up the main highway. The road’s embankment was dotted with parked vehicles. Families could be seen to be sleeping in their cars, snatching a little rest before daylight. At intervals one-and-a-half-ton military trucks came barrelling down the highway, heading south. They would bear down very suddenly, pushing other traffic off the road, headlights blazing, sounding their horns. Dinu caught occasional glimpses of soldiers, squatting in the trucks’ tarpaulin-covered beds.

Approaching Butterworth, the road was jammed with cars and trucks. The railway station was right next to the ferry terminus that connected the mainland to the island of Penang. This area had taken several hits during the recent bombing raids and there was a great deal of confusion in the rubble-strewn streets. People could be seen heading towards the station on foot, carrying bags and suitcases.

Ilongo parked in a side street and left Alison, Dinu and Saya John in the truck while he went ahead to make inquiries. He came back an hour later to report that they had a long wait ahead. There were rumours that the train would not leave until after midnight. Penang was being evacuated too and a fleet of ferries was to be dispatched under cover of darkness. The train would not depart until the ferries had returned to Butterworth with the Penang evacuees.

Alison took a room in a hotel so that Saya John could rest. They spent the day taking it in turns to go out to make inquiries. Night fell and at ten o’clock there was still no news. Then, a little after midnight, Ilongo came running into the hotel with the information that the ferries had been sighted, returning from Penang. Shortly afterwards a train was shunted into the platform of the railway station.

Alison woke Saya John and Dinu paid for the hotel room. They stepped out into the darkened street and joined the crowd that was hurrying toward the station. The entrance had been cordoned off and could only be approached through a defile that was packed with people and luggage.

A few yards from the entrance Ilongo decided to turn back. He put an arm around Saya John and gave him a big hug. ‘Goodbye, Saya.’

Saya John gave him a blankly affectionate smile. ‘Be careful how you drive, Ilongo.’

‘Yes, Saya.’ Ilongo laughed. He turned to Alison and Dinu but before he could say goodbye they were pushed ahead by the press of bodies. He shouted after them: ‘I’m going to spend the night in the truck. You can find me there — just in case. Good luck.’

Dinu answered with a wave. ‘And to you too. . good luck.’

The entrance to the platform was manned by two guards, both Indian. They were dressed in green uniforms and had rifles slung over their shoulders. There were no tickets to be checked: the guards were looking the evacuees over and ushering them through.

They got to the gate with Saya John leaning heavily on Alison. Dinu was directly behind them, carrying their suitcases. Just as they were about to go through the entrance, a guard stopped Alison with an outstretched arm. There followed a hurried consultation between the two guards. Then the guards gestured to Dinu, Alison and Saya John to step aside. ‘Please. . Move away from the gate.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Alison said to Dinu. ‘What’s happening?’

Dinu stepped up to face the guards. ‘ Kya hua ?’ he said, addressing them in Hindustani. ‘Why’ve you stopped us?’

‘You can’t go through.’

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t you have eyes?’ a guard said to him brusquely. ‘Can’t you see that this train’s only for Europeans?’

‘What?’

‘You heard — it’s only for Europeans.’

Dinu swallowed, trying to keep his composure. ‘Listen,’ he said carefully, ‘that can’t be true. . This is wartime. We were told that this was an evacuation train. How can it be only for Europeans? There must be some mistake.’

The guard looked him in the eye, and gestured at the train with his thumb. ‘You’ve got eyes of your own,’ he said. ‘ Dekh lo— take a look.’