by Amitav Ghosh
No! cried Bahram, without so much as looking up. Get back! Stay away!
The thought of anyone else touching his mother’s beads was intolerable to him; he stayed on his knees until the last of them was off the floor. Then he rose to his feet and saw that several khidmatgars had gathered in the corridor; they were standing in a knot, watching him silently.
He shouted: Chull! Don’t you have any work? Get away from here. Go!
Slamming his bedroom door, he lay down. He could feel tears prickling behind his eyelids, so he turned and buried his face in his pillow.
The next day Vico reported that the city officials had sent around a notice asking all the foreign factories to seal up their rear entrances. It was a minor matter, yet it was deeply disturbing to Bahram; he could not help wondering whether it was directed specifically at himself. Could it be that he had been seen leaving the Creek Factory by the rear entrance? Or was it maybe that Vico had been spotted that day when …?
Do you think they saw you, Vico? said Bahram. They have spies everywhere, you know. Maybe they were watching when you used the back entrance to bring that fellow here.
Do you mean Allow?
Bas! You know who I mean, Vico! There’s no need to say the name.
Vico looked at him oddly before dropping his gaze: Sorry, patrão, sorry; I won’t say it again.
But Vico too was powerless to silence the echoes of the name.
A few days later he came hurrying up to say: Patrão, Mr King is downstairs. He wants to see you.
Why?
I don’t know, patrão. He didn’t say.
The call was not unprecedented: Charles King had come by several times in the past, soliciting funds for the various charities that he was involved with. On a couple of occasions his conversations with Bahram had strayed in other directions too. Once, noticing the Farohar picture in the daftar, Mr King had asked Bahram about it: this had led to a long conversation about the nature of Good and Evil, and the eternal struggle between Ahura Mazda and Ahriman.
That discussion seemed very distant to Bahram in his present state of mind – yet he could not turn Charles King summarily away from his door: he was known to have good relations with the mandarins and it would not do to antagonize him.
Send him up, Vico.
Bahram spent the next few minutes composing himself, and when the visitor was shown in he was able to greet him with some semblance of his usual heartiness. ‘Ah Charles! A pleasure indeed! Come in, come in!’
‘A very good day to you, Barry.’
Bahram bowed and pointed to an armchair. ‘Please be seated, Charles. Tell me, what can I do for you?’
‘Barry, I’ve come to see you because I am troubled by the present situation in Canton. It seems to me that if things carry on like this then it is not improbable that Great Britain will interfere in China ere long. But for what? For the preservation of the revenue on opium in Bengal; for the protection of an article which it is a shame even to the Chinese pagan to consume.’
‘But the trade has gone on like this for a long time, Charles,’ said Bahram. ‘Surely you do not expect an overnight change?’
‘No, but change it must, Barry, and we must change too. You will remember that I proposed that we sign a pledge some time ago. I feel that it is more than ever necessary now and I intend to place it before the Committee again. Your support would mean a great deal.’
‘A pledge? Regarding what?’
The visitor withdrew a sheet of paper from his pocket and began to read: ‘“We, the undersigned, believing that the opium trade with China is fraught with evils, commercial, political, social and moral; that it gives just offence to the Government of this country, arrays the authorities and the people against the extension of our commerce and the liberty of our residence; and defers the hope of true Christian amelioration; do hereby declare that we will not take part in the purchase, transportation, or sale of the drug, either as principals or agents.”’
Mr King looked up and smiled: ‘I had hoped to discuss this at a public meeting but unfortunately nobody came; nor did the pledge garner a single signature other than mine. But I think in light of recent events, many will be willing to reconsider the matter.’
Bahram had been shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and now he said: ‘But the matter is not in our hands, Charles. Surely you do not think the traffic in opium would stop if we signed a pledge? Others will step in – because it is not we but the Chinese who are responsible for the trade. It is they who love opium after all.’
‘I cannot agree with you, Barry,’ said Mr King. ‘It is the ready availability of opium that makes it attractive; it is the inflow of the drug that creates the addict.’
‘But what do you propose we do Charles? There are thousands of crates of opium lying in ships offshore. What is to become of all this merchandise?’
‘Well not to mince words, Barry, I feel that all existing stocks must be surrendered.’
‘Really, Charles?’
Only for a moment did Bahram entertain the thought that the young man was joking – the glow of sincerity in his dark-browed face was enough to instantly dispel that notion.
Bahram cleared his throat cautiously and put his fingertips together. ‘But Charles! What you are recommending is a very extreme step, no? You are aware I am sure, that many merchants have stocked opium only because there were indications that the Chinese government might legalize the trade. Some mandarins had circulated memorials recommending this, as you must know.’
‘You are right, Barry,’ said King. ‘When the proposition to legalize the opium trade was first brought before the Chinese government we at Olyphant & Co. also thought that matters were fast tending to that result. But such has not proved to be the case. The memorials have been rejected and the Imperial opposition to the use of the “vile dirt” continues unabated. Whatever doubt there was on that score was settled, surely, on the morning of 12th December?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Bahram.
‘You must be aware, Barry, that the governor had a very specific intent in mounting the execution of Ho Lao-kin in the heart of our enclave.’
Bahram dropped his eyes and withdrew his hands into his choga: ‘What was that intent, Charles?’
‘You will surely have seen the Governor’s letter on this subject? It was written in answer to the Chamber’s accusation that he had disrespected the foreign flags. He said: The penalty of death to which Ho Lao-kin had subjected himself, was the result of the pernicious introduction of opium into Canton by depraved foreigners; his execution, in front of the foreign factories was designed to arouse reflection amongst the foreigners – for foreigners, although born and brought up beyond the pale of civilization, have yet human hearts.’
Suddenly Bahram remembered how he – the condemned man – had turned to look in the direction of his window. He shuddered and his hand instinctively sought the reassurance of his kasti.
‘Did you know, Barry, that the authorities are rumoured to have extracted an extensive confession from Ho Lao-kin? He is said to have told them that he had been inducted into the opium trade at a very young age, by a merchant who gifted him a ball of the drug. I have heard that when Ho Lao-kin learnt of his sentence he himself begged to be executed in the square.’
Bahram could not bear to listen any more. With a great effort he brought a smile to his face. ‘Well Charles, this is all very interesting,’ he murmured. ‘I will certainly give your suggestions due consideration. But regretfully this is a rather busy time … I am sure you will understand.’
‘Of course. I understand.’
Charles King left, looking rather puzzled, and Bahram went to his bedroom and lay down, with his hand resting on his kasti.
The next morning, there was an ominous piece of news: on stepping into his daftar Bahram discovered that Lin Tse-hsü was on his way to Canton.
Sethji, it has been confirmed, said the munshi. Lin Tse-hsü was given his appointment on the night of December
the 31st, by the Son of Heaven himself.
So he is to be the next Governor, is he?
No, Sethji. He will be much more powerful than the present Governor. His position is that of ‘Imperial High Commissioner’ – ‘Yum-chae’ in Cantonese. He will be more like a Viceroy than a Governor – he will be above the admirals, the generals and all other officials.
What is the reason for that?
Sethji, it is because the Emperor has specifically entrusted him with the job of ending the opium trade. Apparently when the Emperor gave Lin Tse-hsü the appointment he told him, with tears in his eyes, that after his death he would not be able to face his father and grandfather if opium smoking had not been eradicated from the land.
Bahram came to a halt by the window: Are you sure this is not just gossip, munshiji?
Ji, Sethji. The outgoing Governor and Lieutenant-Governor have issued a joint notice. A very stern proclamation, addressed to foreign merchants. I’ve picked out some bits.
Go on.
‘ “In times past edict after edict has been directed against opium, and we, the Governor and Lieutenant-Governor, have often reiterated our commands and admonitions. But even to the last, gain alone has been your aim, and our words have filled your ears as the empty wind. At this time, the great Emperor, in his bitter detestation of the evil habit, has his thoughts hourly bent on washing it clean away. In the capital he has commanded the ministers of his court to deliberate and to draw up plans. Besides all this the Emperor has just now appointed a high officer as his special Commissioner, to repair to Canton in order to examine and adopt measures in reference to the affairs of the sea-port. The Commissioner is now not far off; his arrival is expected shortly. His purpose is to cut off utterly the source of this noxious abuse, to strip bare and root up this enormous evil; and though the axe should break in his grip or the boat should sink from beneath him, he will not stay his hand till the work is accomplished.”’
‘Does he say anything about what measures the Commissioner has in mind?’
Ji, Sethji.
‘ “We have already received, with the deepest respect, an edict commanding the admirals of every station, along with the commanders of the different garrisons and military stations, to dispatch squadrons of warships to seize the native smuggling boats and drive out the loitering foreign ships. It appears that several hundred seizures have already been made. As for those villains who have grown grey in this nefarious traffic, to them shall be awarded the most awful penalty of the law, as was the case with the criminal Ho Lao …”’
This time the munshi interrupted himself, without Bahram’s having to say a word.
Maaf karna, Sethji; please excuse me.
Perversely, the apology only deepened Bahram’s disquiet: what did the munshi know? Had the staff been discussing these matters below stairs?
His head began to throb and he decided to lie down for a bit.
That’s enough for now, munshiji. I’ll call you when I’m ready.
Ji, Sethji.
Not long after this there was a rare piece of good news: foreign-owned boats were once again being issued permits to leave and enter Canton. But when the traffic resumed it was learnt that the opium fleet, still at anchor off the outer islands, had been joined by several more vessels, recently arrived from Bombay and Calcutta.
Soon there was a slew of letters; among them were some that commented on the state of the markets in India. Bahram discovered to his shock that the poppy harvest of the last year had turned out to be the most bountiful ever; the markets of Calcutta and Bombay were awash with opium and the price of the drug had crashed. A great number of would-be merchants were now leaping into the trade.
For Bahram, the news was disastrous on many counts: it was galling enough to know that he could have purchased his cargo at half the price if only he had waited a few months; it was worse still that he no longer had the option of taking his consignment back to Bombay, in the event of its remaining unsold – the Indian prices were now so low that he would not recoup even a fraction of his costs.
A few days later a large new contingent of Bombay merchants poured into Canton. They were mostly Parsis with a sprinkling of Muslim and Hindu traders: the majority were young men, small-time businessmen who had no prior experience of Fanqui-town. Among them was a relative of Shireenbai’s, Dinyar Ferdoonjee, a boy Bahram had not met in many years: he was taken by surprise when a tall, athletic young man, square-jawed and strikingly good-looking, walked into his daftar.
Dinyar?
‘Yes, Fuaji.’ Holding out his hand he gave Bahram an energetic handshake. ‘How are you, Fuaji?’
Bahram saw now that he was wearing a a pair of well-cut trowsers and a coat made of the finest Nainsook; his cravat was perfectly tied and on his head, instead of a turban, there was a glossy black hat.
Dinyar had brought presents from Shireenbai and his daughters, mostly new clothes for Navroze, the Persian New Year, which was coming up in March. After handing them over, he wandered around the daftar, examining its contents with a slightly amused smile. All the while he kept up a flow of chatter, in English, passing on greetings and messages from various people in Bombay.
Amazed by his fluency, Bahram said, in Gujarati: Atlu sojhu English bolwanu kahen thi seikhiyu deekra – Where did you learn to speak English so well, son?
‘Oh Puppa kept a tutor for me – Mr Worcester. Do you know him?’
No.
Dinyar in the meanwhile had made his way over to the window and was looking down at the Maidan. ‘Grand view, Fuaji! I’d love to rent this room some day.’
Bahram smiled: You’ll have to get your business going first, deekra – a room like this is expensive.
‘It’s worth it, Fuaji. From here you can keep an eye on everything that’s going on.’
That’s true.
‘That affair in December: you must have seen it all from up here, no?’
What affair?
‘When they tried to execute someone down there? What was his name – Ho-something, wasn’t it?’
Kai nai – Never mind.
Bahram sank back into his armchair and wiped his forehead. ‘Sorry, beta – I have some work to finish …’
‘Yes of course, Fuaji. I’ll come by again later.’
For the rest of the day Bahram averted his eyes from the Maidan and stayed away from the windows. But just as he was about to go to bed, he heard an unfamiliar noise outside, a kind of chanting, accompanied by the tinkling of cymbals.
It was impossible not to look out now. Parting the curtains he saw that some dozen people had gathered at the centre of the Maidan. A clump of flickering candles was planted in front of them and the flames threw a dim light on their faces: they were all Chinese but not the kind of men who usually came to the Maidan – a couple of them were dressed in the robes of Taoist priests, including the man who was leading the chanting.
Suddenly Bahram remembered witnessing something similar on one of Chi-Mei’s boats: she had always had a great dread of unquiet spirits and hungry ghosts and some trivial incident had led her to summon a priest. Looking out of the window now, Bahram began to wonder whether the men in the Maidan were performing an exorcism. But for whom? And why there – at the very spot where the gibbet had been erected that day?
He reached for the bell cord and tugged it hard, setting off an insistent clanging in the kitchen downstairs.
A few minutes later Vico came running up, wearing a look of concern. Patrão? What’s the matter?
Bahram beckoned to him to come to the window.
Look at those people down there, Vico. See how they’re chanting? And look there – isn’t that some kind of priest, waving his hands and lighting incense?
Maybe, patrão. Who knows?
Isn’t that exactly the place where they had brought that fellow that day?
Vico shrugged and said nothing.
What are they doing down there, Vico? Is it an exorcism?
Vico shrugged aga
in and would not look into his eyes.
What does it mean, Vico? said Bahram insistently. I want to know. Have other people seen what I saw that night, in the fog? Have you heard of anything like that?
Vico sighed and pulled the curtain shut. Listen, patrão, he said, in the kind of tone that men use to soothe children. What is the point of thinking about all this? What good will it do, ha?
You don’t understand, Vico, said Bahram. It would make me feel better if I knew I wasn’t the only one who had seen it – whatever it was that I saw.
Oh patrão, leave it na?
Vico went to Bahram’s bedside table and poured out a stiff measure of laudanum.
Here, patrão; take this, it will make you feel better.
Bahram took the glass from him and drained it at a gulp. All right, Vico, he said, climbing into his bed. You can go now.
With his hand on the doorknob, Vico came to a stop.
Patrão, you can’t let your mind run away with you like this. There are so many who are depending on you, here and in Hindusthan. You must be strong, patrão, for our sake. You can’t let us down; you can’t lose your nerve.
Bahram smiled: a gentle warmth had begun to spread through his body as the laudanum took effect. His fears dissolved and a sense of well-being took hold of him. He could scarcely remember why he had felt so oppressed and frightened just moments before.
Don’t worry, Vico, he said. I am fine. Everything will be all right.
*
The gold in Asha-didi’s teeth glinted as she rose to welcome Neel into her floating eatery.
Nomoshkar Anil-babu! she said, ushering him past the painted portal. You’ve come at a good time. There’s someone here you should meet; someone from Calcutta.
At the far end of the kitchen-boat sat a statuesque form, draped in a shapeless gown: the matronly figure, the bulbous head and the long, flowing locks were so distinctive that there could be no doubt of who it was. Neel came instantly to a halt, but it was too late to attempt an escape. Asha-didi was already performing the introductions: Baboo Nob Kissin, here is the gentleman I was telling you about; the other Bengali Baboo in Canton – Anil Kumar Munshi.
