by Amitav Ghosh
Handing the pipe to Zachary, he plunged the pellet of opium into the flame again. Suddenly it caught fire, and he cried out: ‘Ready?’
‘Yes.’
Zachary had already emptied the air from his chest: when the flaming pellet was placed on the ‘dragon’s eye’ he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the smoke. Its consistency was almost that of a liquid, dense, oily and intensely perfumed; it poured into his body like a flood, coursing through his veins and swamping his head.
‘You see, Mr Reid? The power that moves the world is inside you now. Lie back. Let it run through you.’
As he leant back against the cushions Zachary suddenly became aware of his pulse – except that it wasn’t beating only in his wrist or his neck. It was as if his whole body were pulsating; the drumming of his heart was so powerful that he could feel his blood surging into his capillaries. The sensation was so strong that he looked down at his forearm and saw that his skin had changed colour. It was flushed and red, as if every pore had been awoken and irradiated.
He looked up at the ceiling and suddenly it was as if his eyes had become more sensitive, his gaze more powerful. He could see minute cracks in the wood; his hearing too seemed to have become more acute and the lapping of water was loud in his ears. He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feeling of weightlessness, allowing the smoke to carry him away, as if on a tide.
Now it was Mr Chan’s turn with the pipe. After he had finished, he laid it on the table and leant back against a bolster. ‘Do you know why I have a yen for the smoke, Mr Reid? It is because I am a gardener by profession. I love flowers – and this smoke is the essence of the kingdom of flowers.’
His voice drifted away.
In a while Zachary became aware that Mr Chan had left the cabin and that he was alone with the girl. Now, for the first time, she raised her head and looked directly at him, with a slight smile on her lips. Zachary stared, unable to tear his eyes from her face: there was something familiar about her – he couldn’t figure out what it was so he stretched out his arm and ran his fingertips over her face. Suddenly the answer came to him: she bore an uncanny resemblance to Mrs Burnham. Even the touch of her hands, as they roamed over his body and under his robe, was like hers; even more so was the feel of her limbs against his own.
When he clasped her in his arms the likeness seemed to grow more and more pronounced, making him hungrier and hungrier; it was as if he were making love to Mrs Burnham herself – so much so that at the end he even mumbled her name aloud. But no sooner had it left his lips than he was stricken with guilt; he turned away, mortified, alarming the girl, who seemed to think that it was a rebuke of some kind.
‘No, no,’ he said, to reassure her. ‘It’s not you; it’s me.’
He could tell, though, that she hadn’t understood. At a loss to explain, he took hold of her hand and gave himself a mock slap, as a punishment. The blow was very light, yet his skin, still irradiated by the smoke, began to tingle; his whole face was aglow. The feeling was pleasureable yet strange – precisely because the pleasure came from the sensation of being punished, of expiating a burden of guilt.
He did it again, a little harder, and it felt even better. Now she seemed to understand what he wanted and began to slap him playfully, not just on his face but also on his naked back and buttocks – and the pleasure was so intense that he knew that if he did not stop he would be compelled to start all over again, with another pipe.
The thought sobered him so he gave her a smile and said: ‘I must go now – it’s time for me to leave.’
When she fetched him his clothes he reached into the pocket of his trowsers and took out a handful of coins. But she would not take them; she shook her head and bowed herself out.
As he was putting on his jacket a door opened and Mr Chan stepped in: suddenly an uneasy thought entered Zachary’s mind: was it possible that he had been watching all this while?
But he could see no hint of it in Mr Chan’s manner which was once again brisk and businesslike. ‘Well, Mr Reid,’ he said, ‘I trust you enjoyed the visit. I hope it will be the beginning of a long partnership.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Zachary mumbled. ‘I hope so too.’
‘Oh I am sure we will deal very well together,’ said Mr Chan, pumping Zachary’s hand. ‘I have been doing business with Mr Burnham for a long time, and I must say you remind me very much of him. The two of you are very much alike.’
‘Thank you, Mr Chan. It is kind of you to say so.’
*
For Zhong Lou-si and his circle the Battle of the Barrier was a defeat on many counts. Even though they had watched the fighting with their own eyes they were unable to persuade Commissioner Lin of the truth of what they had seen. An army commander got to the Commissioner first and convinced him that the battle had resulted in a great victory for their side – that the British had been put to flight, with many casualties. The prefect of the district that bordered Macau corroborated these misleading reports, as did some other officials. Those who tried to tell the Commissioner the truth, like Zhong Lou-si, were vastly outnumbered and outranked.
The result was that the Commissioner accepted the military commanders’ fictitious version of the Macau battle and his dispatches to the Emperor reflected these falsehoods.
If Lin Zexu can be deceived like this, said Compton despairingly, then what chance is there that the truth will ever reach the Forbidden City?
But soon enough it became clear that the Emperor could not be shielded from the realities of what was happening along the coast.
The Macau battle was still fresh in memory when it was learnt in Guangzhou that a squadron of British ships had sailed right up to the mouth of the Bai River, very close to Beijing. With the capital under immediate threat, the governor of that province, a very senior mandarin by the name of Qishan, had agreed to receive the letter that Captain Elliot had been trying to deliver to the Emperor for the last several weeks.
And the contents of this letter were even more shocking than anyone had previously imagined: along with many other demands the British had asked for a sum of six million Spanish dollars in compensation for the opium that Commissioner Lin had confiscated the year before. In addition they had demanded that an island be ceded to them, as a trading base.
The strangest part of it was that the British accepted no blame for their crimes: they made no acknowledgement of their smuggling, their repeated provocations, or their refusal to abide by Chinese laws on Chinese soil. Instead they placed the blame entirely on Commissioner Lin, accusing him of criminal conduct and unlawful seizures. It was as if the firepower of their ships had given the British the right to dictate that night was day.
Such was the pressure on the Commissioner that he composed a long letter to the Emperor, trying to account for his errors and failures. While acknowledging that he had made some mistakes, he pointed out that he had followed the Emperor’s express instructions in all his actions. He also placed much blame on the merchants of Guangzhou, who, he said, had colluded and conspired with the British at every step.
What the Emperor thought of this letter was not yet known, but rumour had it that he was not persuaded by the Commissioner’s arguments. It was even being said that the Emperor had agreed to hand the Commissioner to the British, to face whatever punishment they saw fit.
For Zhong Lou-si and his circle these tidings were like tremors in the earth: it was impossible thereafter to ignore the indications of a coming upheaval in the firmaments of their authority. Every day there were fresh shocks and aftershocks, in the form of reports and rumours, to remind them that the ground was shifting under their feet.
From Compton’s reports it became clear to Neel that a struggle had broken out in the official circles of Guangzhou, with many different factions competing for power. It was evident also that those who were getting the worst of it were the men of heterodox views, like Zhong Lou-si. The traditionalists were in the ascendant now, and as their stars rose a miasma of suspic
ion came to settle upon those who had advocated or practised the study of foreign affairs, such as Zhong Lou-si and his circle.
Nor was it only officials who were affected by the recent developments. Common people too were beginning to feel the effects of the British blockade of the Pearl River. Rumours of the attacks on Ting-hae, Macau and other cities had started to spread, creating much disquiet. In Guangdong all those who had connections with foreigners – and there were many such in the province – were increasingly coming under suspicion. Everywhere there was talk of han-chien, faan gwat jai and chieng-shang, traitors, rebels, spies and treacherous merchants who colluded with the British.
For Baburao and his family the problem was especially acute: it was now common knowledge that Indian haak-gwai soldiers and sailors were rampaging up and down the coast in tandem with the English faan-gwai. Baburao’s connections with Bengal were well known on the waterfront; it was well known also that Asha-didi’s kitchen-boat catered mainly to Achhas, men from Yindu. This led to so much unpleasantness that she was left with no option but to shut down the eatery.
Then, on a cool autumn evening, two months after the battle at Macau, there was a knock on Neel’s door. It was Compton, looking utterly distraught.
I have some bad news, Ah Neel …
Commissioner Lin had been removed from his post, Compton announced, and that too in a deeply insulting manner. The Emperor had sent a letter to the Commissioner’s deputy addressing him as Lin Zexu’s successor.
In this ignominious way had that great man, Commissioner Lin, been deposed: no forewarning, no notification – just a letter to a junior to indicate that he had been replaced! This was the Commissioner’s reward for his faithful and honourable service to the Emperor!
Neel had never seen Compton so much cast down.
Official confirmation came a few days later: Lin Zexu had been recalled to Beijing in disgrace. He was to be replaced by Qishan who had been appointed Governor-General of the two southern provinces of Guangdong and Guangxi.
The news created a furore in Guangdong where the former Commissioner remained immensely popular. People poured out to express their sympathy for him: wherever he went he was besieged by crowds; people would surround his palanquin and thrust gifts at him – shoes, umbrellas, robes, incense-burners and the like.
Lin Zexu’s fall from grace was a defeat also for Zhong Lou-si, and thus, by extension, for Compton too. They both knew that under the new dispensation Zhong Lou-si’s influence would be greatly reduced: effectively it would mean the undoing of all the work of the last two years.
Neel happened to be present in Compton’s shop one afternoon when Zhong Lou-si came by for an unannounced visit. It seemed to Neel that Zhong Lou-si had aged many years in the last two months; he was leaning heavily on a stick, his expression resigned and careworn. They parted on a melancholy note. Neel would never see Zhong Lou-si again.
The next day Compton went to Lin Zexu’s residence to pay his respects before his departure. On arriving there he learnt that the former Commissioner would not be leaving after all. The Emperor had sent instructions for him to remain in Canton. He was to assist the new Governor-General, Qishan, in conducting an inquiry into his own conduct.
Lin Zexu had become the equivalent of an ancestral tablet, to be taken out and put away according to the needs of the moment.
Now, as Guangzhou waited for the arrival of the Governor-General, the disquiet that had gripped the city was deepened by a sense of drift and uncertainty.
One evening, on his way back to Baburao’s houseboat, from Compton’s shop, Neel was surrounded by a gang of urchins as he stepped off the ferry. The boys began to shout curses and obscenities.
… Yun gwai, faan uk-kei laan hai!
… laahn gwai, diu neih louh mei!
… jihn hai, haahng lan toi!
It was not unusual for taunts like these to be directed at foreigners – or, for that matter, Chinese people from other provinces, or even neighbours from the next village – but there was a note of rage in the boys’ voices that Neel had not heard before. The strange thing was that they had identified him not as a ‘black alien’ but rather as a ‘traitor’: what would have happened if they had realized that he was a haak-gwai? It was better not to know. What was clear in any case was that Neel could not go back to Baburao’s houseboat: to lead the boys there might create problems for the family. Neel decided instead to head for the Ocean Banner Monastery which was just a little way further.
The urchins’ shouts grew louder and louder as Neel walked towards the monastery. Just as he was stepping through the gates a rock hit him in the back – but fortunately the gang did not follow him inside.
Taranathji was his usual warm, welcoming self. He nodded gloomily on hearing Neel’s story. The mood in Guangzhou was turning very ugly, he said. It wasn’t just foreigners who were being targeted; Chinese people from other provinces were also being set upon by the local citizenry. Such was the situation that the monastery’s Tibetan monks no longer stepped outside.
Taranathji told Neel that he was welcome to remain in the monastery and Neel gratefully accepted the offer. A message was sent to Baburao and he appeared at the monastery shortly afterwards with a bagful of Neel’s belongings.
Baburao was not surprised to hear that Neel had been set upon. He had heard similar tales from friends and relatives; boat-people too were being stigmatized as traitors and spies. The provincial authorities had been heaping blame on their community for their failure to sink British warships. They had thought that boatman ‘water-braves’ would be able to destroy the foreign ships with their special powers; they were enraged that this had not come about.
Kintu amra ki korbo? said Baburao in Bangla. What can we do? Landsmen may believe that we have miraculous powers but we don’t – we are just ordinary folk.
The next morning Neel sent a message to Compton to let him know that he had taken refuge in the monastery. Compton came over to visit and advised Neel to stay where he was until some more permanent arrangement could be made.
A few days later Compton came to see Neel again. He had spoken to Zhong Lou-si, he said, and they had agreed that it would be best for Neel to move to the Cambridge, which was still anchored at Whampoa. He would be safe there since the Cambridge was under the special protection of the provincial authorities; and no doubt the crew would be glad of his services as a translator.
*
Zachary sold his last lot of opium in early December, off the coast of Manchuria. With the Ibis’s holds now empty he lost no time in turning the schooner around to head back to the south.
Two days from Hong Kong Bay the lookout spotted Philip Fraser’s brigantine heading towards them. The two vessels hove to abreast of each other and Zachary went over for a meal.
Mr Fraser had much news to pass on: the British fleet had returned to the Pearl River estuary to await the opening of negotiations with Qishan, the new viceroy of Guangdong. One of the Plenipotentiaries, Admiral George Elliot, had fallen ill; he had resigned his command to Commodore Bremer. Captain Elliot was now the sole Plenipotentiary which was a matter of no little chagrin to many in the expeditionary force. Among his fellow officers Captain Elliot had gained a reputation for being too soft on the Chinese; the prevalent feeling was that nothing would come of his strategy of talk-talk-talk; that the Chinese were only using this time to build up their defences. Many officers took the view that Peking would make no concessions until it was given a bloody nose and they ridiculed the Plenipotentiary for his illusions. Many regarded him as a vacillating fool and did not hesitate to say so. Derisive nicknames abounded – Plenipot, Plenny-potty, Plenny-pissy-potty and so on.
In the meantime, the British fleet had been augmented by several more warships including a revolutionary new vessel: the Nemesis, an ironclad steamer, the first of her kind to venture into the Indian Ocean. Mr Fraser had been given a tour of this marvellous vessel and he could not stop talking about her. The Nemesis was made almost e
ntirely of metal; there was so much iron on her that a special device had to be fitted on her compass to correct the deflection. Her two massive paddle-wheels were powered by engines of one hundred and twenty horsepower which daily devoured eleven tons of coal. Yet the draught of this mighty vessel was so shallow that she could operate in waters of no more than five feet! This was because she had two keels that could be raised and lowered. Her armaments too were such as to induce awe: she carried two thirty-two-pound pivot guns, capable of shooting shell or canister, five brass six-pounders, and ten iron swivels; in addition there was a tube on the bridge between her paddle-wheels, for the launching of Congreve rockets.
It was thought by many, said Mr Fraser, that the Nemesis would forever change the nature of naval warfare: she was expected to serve as a secret weapon, striking terror into the Chinese.
Along with all the other news, there was a snippet that was of particular interest to Zachary: Mr and Mrs Burnham had arrived in China on their ship, the Anahita. Mr Fraser had met them at Hong Kong Bay and they had both been very pleased to hear of Zachary’s successes on the coast.
The news prompted Zachary to crowd the Ibis’s masts with sail, sending the schooner skimming across the waves.
*
Chusan, and the progress of the campaign in the north, were subjects of much discussion in the sepoys’ tents in Saw Chow. News was sparse in the early weeks but it was generally understood that the fighting had been light and Chusan had been taken with very few casualties.
But as August turned into September ominous rumours began to circulate, of outbreaks of sickness and disease. Kesri heard that sick and dying soldiers were being transported back from Chusan to the southern sector. The word was that they were being sent to Macau, to be accommodated either in the Misericordía or in a mansion that had been turned into a hospital.
