Amitav Ghosh - The Glass Palace

Craning over the guard’s shoulder, he looked up and down the platform, at the train’s windows: he could not see a single face that looked Malay or Chinese or Indian.

‘This is impossible. . it’s madness.’

‘What? What’s impossible?’ Alison tugged at his arm. ‘Dinu, tell me, what’s going on?’

‘The guards say this train is only for whites. .’

Alison nodded. ‘Yes. I had a feeling that it would be— that’s how things are. .’

‘How can you say that, Alison?’ Dinu was frantic now and sweat was pouring down his face. ‘You can’t put up with this stuff. . Not now. Not when there’s a war. .’

Dinu spotted a uniformed Englishman, walking along the platform, checking a roster. Dinu began to plead with the guards: ‘Listen — let me through — just for a minute. . just to have a word with that officer over there. . I’ll explain to him; I’m sure he’ll understand.’

‘Not possible.’

Dinu lost his temper. He shouted into the guard’s face. ‘How can you stop me? Who’s given you the right?’

Suddenly a third man appeared. He was dressed in a railway uniform and he too appeared to be Indian. He herded them away from the entrance, towards a flight of stairs that led back to the street. ‘Yes please?’ he said to Dinu. ‘I am the station master — please tell me: what is the problem?’

‘Sir. .’ Dinu made an effort to keep his voice even. ‘They are not letting us through. . They say the train is only for Europeans.’

The station master smiled apologetically. ‘Yes — that is what we have been given to understand.’

‘But how can that be?. . This is wartime. . This is an evacuation train.’

‘What can I say? Why, in Penang, Mr Lim, the magistrate, was turned back even though he had an official evacuation letter. The Europeans would not let him board the ferries because of his being Chinese.’

‘You don’t understand. .’ Dinu began to plead. ‘It’s not just Europeans who are in danger. . You can’t do this. . It’s wrong.’

The station master pulled a face, shrugging dismissively. ‘I do not see what is so wrong with it. After all it is common sense. They are the rulers; they are the ones who stand to lose.’

Dinu’s voice rose. ‘That’s nonsense,’ he shouted. ‘If that’s the way you look at it, then the war’s already lost. Don’t you see? You’ve conceded everything worth fighting for. .’

‘Sir,’ the station master glared at him, ‘there is no reason to shout. I am just doing my job.’

Dinu raised his hands and grabbed hold of the station master’s collar. ‘You bastard,’ he said, shaking him. ‘You bastard. . it’s you who’re the enemy. People like you — just doing their jobs. . you’re the enemy.’

‘Dinu,’ Alison screamed. ‘Look out!’

Dinu felt a hand closing on the back of his neck, wrenching him away from the station master. A fist slammed into his face, knocking him to the floor. His nostrils filled with the metallic smell of blood. He looked up to see the two guards glaring angrily down at him. Alison and Saya John were holding them off. ‘Let him be. Let him be!’

Alison reached down and helped Dinu to his feet. ‘Come on, Dinu — let’s go.’ She picked up their luggage and ushered Dinu and Saya John down the stairs. When they were back on the street, Dinu steadied himself against a lamp-post and put his hands on Alison’s shoulders. ‘Alison,’ he said, ‘Alison— maybe they’ll let you on, by yourself. You’re half-white. You have to try, Alison.’

‘Shh.’ She put a hand over his mouth. ‘Don’t say that, Dinu. I wouldn’t think of it.’

Dinu wiped the blood from his nose. ‘But you have to leave, Alison. . With your grandfather — you heard what Ah Fatt said. One way or another you have to go. . You can’t stay at Morningside any more. .’

From inside the station there was a piercing whistle. All around them, people began to run, crowding into the station’s entrance, pushing at the gates. Dinu, Alison and Saya John held on to each other’s arms, anchoring themselves to the lamp-post.

At last they heard the train pulling away. ‘It’s gone,’ said Saya John.

‘Yes, Baba,’ Alison said quietly. ‘It’s gone.’

Dinu stepped back and picked up a suitcase. ‘Let’s go and find Ilongo,’ he said.

‘Tomorrow morning we’ll go back to Morningside.’

‘To stay?’

Dinu shook his head. ‘I’ll stay there, Alison,’ he said. ‘They won’t harm me — I don’t have anything particular to be afraid of. But you and your grandfather — with your connections— American and Chinese. . There’s just no telling what they would do to you. You have to go. .’

‘But how, Dinu?’

At last Dinu said the words they’d both been dreading:

‘The Daytona. . It’s the only way, Alison.’

‘No.’ She threw herself on him. ‘Not without you.’

‘It’ll be all right, Alison.’ He was careful to speak quietly, feigning a confidence that he was far from feeling. ‘I’ll join you soon. . in Singapore, you’ll see. We won’t be long apart.’

It was dark when Arjun returned to consciousness. The sensation in his leg had subsided to a raw, throbbing pain. As his mind cleared Arjun realised that a stream of water was flowing past him and the culvert was resounding to a dull, drumming noise. It took him several minutes to understand that it was raining.

Just as he was beginning to stir, Arjun felt Kishan Singh’s hand tightening on his shoulder, in warning. ‘They’re still around, sah’b,’ Kishan Singh whispered. ‘They’ve posted pickets in the plantation. They’re waiting.’

‘How close are they? Within earshot?’

‘No. They can’t hear us in the rain.’

‘How long was I out?’

‘More than an hour, sah’b. I bandaged your wound. The bullet passed cleanly through your hamstring. It’ll be all right.’

Arjun touched his thigh gingerly. Kishan Singh had unwrapped his puttees, rolled up his trousers and applied a field dressing. He’d also made a kind of cradle to keep his leg out of the water, by propping two sticks against the sides of the culvert.

‘What shall we do now, sah’b?’

The question confounded Arjun. He tried to look ahead but his mind was still clouded by pain and he could think of no clear plan. ‘We’ll have to wait them out, Kishan Singh. Tomorrow morning we’ll see.’

‘ Han, sah’b.’ Kishan Singh seemed relieved.

Lying motionless in the inches-deep water, Arjun became acutely aware of his surroundings: of the wet folds of cloth that were carving furrows into his skin, of the pressure of Kishan Singh’s body, stretched out beside him. The culvert was filled with the smell of their bodies: the mildewed, rain-soaked, sweat-stained odour of their uniforms, the metallic smell of his own blood.

His mind strayed, disordered by the pain in his leg. He remembered suddenly the look that Kishan Singh had given him on the beach that day, when he came back from the island with Alison. Was it scorn that he’d seen in his eyes— a judgement of some kind?

Would Kishan Singh have done what he had? Allowed himself to make love to Alison; to prey upon her; to betray Dinu, who was both a friend and something more? He didn’t know himself why he’d been driven to do it; why he’d wanted her so much. He’d heard some of the chaps saying that these things came on you in wartime — on the front. But Kishan Singh was on the front too — and it was hard to think of him doing anything like that. Was that part of the difference between being an officer and a jawan— having to impose yourself, enforce your will?