River of Smoke it-2

by Amitav Ghosh

  Bonaparte’s victory had affected Zadig in many ways, large and small: he had started taking French lessons, for instance, and he and his cousins had begun to ride horses, which was something that they, as Christians, could not have done before: he was never to forget his first trot around Cairo’s Ezbekiya Gardens. It was then also that he acquired the skills that would launch him in his trade, being taken on as an apprentice by a French watchmaker.

  Among Zadig’s relatives there were many others whose lives were altered by the invasion: a couple of his cousins happened to have a smattering of French and they became interpreters for the invading army; others had found jobs in the newly established printing press. One perennially impoverished uncle, Orhan Karabedian, an artist, experienced a particularly dramatic change of fortune. As a painter of icons he had always found it hard to make ends meet, subsisting mainly on church commissions; now he was besieged by French officers who wanted souvenirs of Coptic Egypt – it made no difference to anyone that he was an Armenian and not a Copt.

  The French invasion also led, indirectly, to Zadig’s marriage: one branch of his mother’s family became particularly prosperous by securing an enormously lucrative contract for the supply of wine and pork products to the French army. When Napoleon decided to march northwards, into Palestine and Syria, they deputed their youngest son-in-law, who had only recently joined their business, to accompany the invading army’s baggage train. The young man was to die at Jaffa, a year later, of the plague. After the period of mourning was over, the family decided that their young daughter could not spend the rest of her life as a widow – and it was thus that Zadig’s marriage came about.

  While Napoleon was in Egypt, Zadig saw him only once, but at quite close quarters. It was when the Consul was on his way to visit the Nilometer, to preside over the ceremony that marked the start of the annual floods. Joining the crowd of spectators, Zadig had been astonished to discover that Napoleon was a full head shorter than himself.

  Now, as the Cuffnells approached the venue of the former Emperor’s exile, many long-forgotten memories stirred in Zadig’s head. His feelings might have been even stronger if he had believed that he might actually meet the man in the flesh – but this he dismissed as an impossibility. Bonaparte was sure to be the most closely guarded prisoner in the world, he told Bahram; to think of seeing or meeting him was mere foolishness – yet, it was not long before they discovered that some of their fellow passengers harboured that very hope.

  The Cuffnells was mainly a cargo ship and the only other passengers on board were four English couples. The geography of the ship, as much as anything else, ensured that Zadig and Bahram had little to do with the British passengers: their cabin was deep in the vessel’s belly, close to the bilges; they ate their meals with the serangs, tindals, silmagoors and other petty officers, and when they needed to stretch their legs they did so within the confines of the main deck. The English couples, on the other hand, were travelling in the poop-deck and roundhouse, where the ship’s officers also had their quarters. They dined at the captain’s table and spent their leisure hours on the quarter-deck, which could only be stepped upon by order or invitation.

  Despite these barriers, the passengers were not unacquainted with each other for the main deck was the crossroads of the ship and it sometimes happened that they would find themselves face to face there. Then they would exchange bows and curtseys, salaams and greetings – although perfectly cordial, these ceremonies were a little stiff, the awkwardness of the respective parties being emphasized by the contrast in their costumes, the one being dressed in trousers, pelisses and surtouts, and the other in robes and ample headgear.

  Although their interactions were few, Bahram and Zadig were not wholly unaware of the doings of their fellow passengers: often, while passing below the quarter-deck, they would hear snatches of the conversations that were being conducted over their heads. Beneath the companion-ladder there was a small alcove, under a ventilator: when the discussions above concerned some matter of unusual interest, this was a convenient place from which to listen.

  After the Cuffnells’ departure from Cape Town they overheard many conversations about the former dictator.

  ‘Never could I have imagined that I would so desire to gaze upon this man, this creature, who was once a veritable bugbear…’

  ‘Indeed it is astonishing that one should wish to look upon such a fiend – but I confess that I too am sorely tempted.’

  ‘And how could you not be, my dear? To observe a monster in his lair is not an opportunity afforded to many.’

  After a week or so at sea, the conversations on the quarter-deck took a new turn: instead of merely speculating about the possibility of catching an accidental glimpse of Napoleon, the English passengers began to discuss the various expedients by which a visit to his house might be arranged.

  All foolishness, said Zadig dismissively. Unless they grow wings and fly like birds, they will see nothing of Napoleon.

  Some three weeks after the Cuffnells’ departure from Cape Town, a mountainous eyrie of an island appeared on the horizon: this was St Helena. Even from a distance it was clear that the British navy had mounted extraordinary precautions: there were so many vessels patrolling the island that it looked as if some great naval battle were shortly to be fought off its shores.

  The sight of the island, and the warships around it, provoked a fresh outburst of excitement on the quarter-deck: ‘To think that there lurks the Creature who agitated the world…’

  ‘… grasped the sceptres of the finest Kingdoms…’

  ‘… annihilated entire armies, at Jena and Austerlitz…’

  Bahram and Zadig were down in their listening-post, and they understood that the notion of visiting the ex-Emperor had now blossomed into a fully fledged plan: evidently one of the Englishmen had connections in the Admiralty and had drafted a letter to the authorities asking for permission to call on the former Consul; what was more, the Captain of the Cuffnells had been enlisted to deliver this letter with his own hands, thereby adding the weight of his authority to their cause.

  The approach to shore took inordinately long because of the security precautions, and the Cuffnells was still miles from the island when she was stopped by a sloop o’war. Through a battery of speaking-trumpets, the officers of the Cuffnells were subjected to a prolonged interrogation before being allowed to proceed to the harbour. This incident gave the Captain pause, and he was heard to remonstrate with his compatriots, warning them that even if Napoleon himself were to entertain their request, it was most unlikely that the authorities would allow them to call upon the prisoner. But the ladies were not easily discouraged, and the Cuffnells had no sooner dropped anchor than they set up a great clamour for the Captain to fulfil his promise. Accordingly the Captain’s ketch was lowered and he was rowed off to Jamestown with a letter of request in hand.

  On the Captain’s return it was evident from his deportment that he did not have anything encouraging to impart: Bahram and Zadig managed to reach their listening-post in time to hear him say that Napoleon was so strictly guarded that it was harder to gain access to him than to breach a fort.

  ‘When the Bonaparte first arrived he observed to the Admiral that since it was impossible to escape from this island, his sentries and pickets might as well be removed. “No, no, General,” said the Admiral to this: “You are a cleverer fellow than I, so here they must be, and an Officer must see you every twelve hours.” And such has been the rule ever since.’

  Living under these tight precautions, said the Captain, the Bonaparte was rarely disposed to entertain guests. He had previously refused all such requests, repeatedly expressing his reluctance to meet even with senior officers of the Admiralty. The chances of his being open to a social visit from a group of passing passengers was next to nil – but nonetheless the Captain had done his duty and handed over their letter.

  The next day the Captain’s gloomy prediction was confirmed; two uniformed visitors came
aboard to announce to the hopeful passengers that their request had been summarily refused: the General had declared himself to be indisposed and incapable of receiving visitors.

  This met with an outcry, not merely of disappointment but also of indignation and disbelief.

  ‘Oh the Beast! After all he has done, does he not owe the world a debt?’

  ‘But surely, sir, he must lack for company in this lonely place… he who has been used to the most glittering society, the most sparkling conversation…?’

  ‘He has been heard to say, madam, that he wishes he had perished in the snows of Russia. Or of a bullet, at Leipzig.’

  ‘Oh, a fitting death it would have been too…’

  So it went on, for quite a while, with opprobrium and entreaty being uttered in equal measure until at last the visitors tired of their hosts’ importunities and rose to leave. Their descent was so precipitate that Bahram and Zadig had very little time to distance themselves from their alcove. Zadig managed to whisk himself off, but Bahram found himself face-to-face with the visitors, at the foot of the companion-ladder. Although startled, he managed to respond with some aplomb, performing a stately bow and assuming an air of nonchalance. This retrieved the situation, and he was answered in kind by the visitors. As he was completing his dignified retreat, Bahram had the satisfaction of knowing that he had made a considerable impression, for the visitors could be heard exchanging whispers with their hosts:

  ‘The one with the turban – is he what they call a Raja?’

  ‘Better still – he is a prince of ancient Persia…’

  ‘A pure-blooded Parsee – directly descended from Xerxes and Darius

  …’

  Bahram smiled to himself, thinking of how his mother would have laughed.

  The next day it came to be known that the Cuffnells would have to remain in St Helena somewhat longer than expected because of a minor problem with equipment. For Bahram and Zadig, who were tired of their shipboard quarters and eager to get to their destination, the news caused only annoyance. But the British contingent, on the other hand, responded with a renewed surge of optimism: having learnt that Napoleon liked to go for long walks in the vicinity of his lodge, they arranged to hire horses to take them up to the hills. Zadig predicted that this expedition would prove as futile as all their other efforts – but he was wrong, for the members of the riding party returned with their hopes refreshed. Although they had not seen Bonaparte himself, they had encountered someone who had said that he might well be able to make the necessary arrangements. This gentleman happened to be one of the Quartermasters charged with the provisioning of the General’s household; what was more, he was an acquaintance of one of the passengers and had quickly revealed himself to be the most civil, the most obliging of men: he said that the General had recently evinced some interest in the Cuffnells and he offered to convey their request directly to the Grand Marshal Bertrand, who was the General’s companion in exile. He assured them that they would have their answer the following day.

  Sure enough the next day brought the Quartermaster to the Cuffnells at noon. Not long afterwards a lascar came down to tell Bahram that his presence was required above, on the quarter-deck.

  No such invitation had ever been extended to Bahram before and he was taken aback. Are you sure? he said to the lascar. Who sent you?

  The sahibs and ma’ams, came the reply.

  Achha? Chalo. Tell them I’m coming.

  Donning a fresh angarkha, Bahram climbed the ladder to the quarter-deck and was greeted with an unprecedented display of warmth.

  ‘Oh Mr Moddie, please do take a seat.’

  ‘And you are well today? Not peaked by the weather I trust?’

  ‘No, no,’ Bahram hastened to reassure them. ‘My health is pink. Please tell, how to be of service.’

  ‘Well Mr Moddie…’

  After some initial awkwardness, and several roundabout remarks, the Quartermaster came at last to the point. ‘I am sure you are aware, Mr Moddie, that Napoleon Bonaparte is a prisoner on this island. Some of your shipmates are most desirous of meeting with him and he has agreed to receive them. But upon one condition.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Bonaparte has stipulated that he will see the others only if he can meet with you first, Mr Moddie.’

  ‘Me? But why?’ Bahram cried in astonishment.

  ‘Well, Mr Moddie, it has come to the Bonaparte’s ears that there is a Zoroastrian prince on the Cuffnells.’

  ‘Prince?’ Bahram’s eyes widened. ‘What Prince? Why he wants? What he will do with Prince?’

  The Quartermaster cleared his throat before launching on an explanation: ‘It appears, Mr Moddie, that the Bonaparte had once fancied himself as the Alexander of our age. It was his intention to proceed eastwards from Egypt to Persia and India, in the footsteps of the great Macedonian. He had even dreamt, it seems, of encountering Darius at the gates of Persepolis, as had Alexander…’

  To Bahram, as to many of his kin, there was no name more hateful than that of the two-horned Greek. The blood rushed to his head and he cried out: ‘Chha! What you are talking Alexander-shalexander? You know what that dirty fellow did? Looting palaces, burning temples, haraaming wives – what he did not do? Even boys he was budmashing. Now this new one has come, you think I will go meekly to visit? You think I am mad or what?’

  The flustered Quartermaster hastened to reassure him. ‘You have no cause for concern, none at all: the Bonaparte intends you no harm. He is, after all, a Frenchman, not a Greek. And he is interested not only in your sect, but also in learning about the conduct of your business in China. He has been known to remark you know, that it is better that China remains asleep, for the world is sure to tremble when she awakes.’

  This mystified Bahram who said: ‘What you are saying? This fellow thinks Chinese are sleeping too much, is it?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said the Quartermaster. ‘I am sure he was speaking only metaphorically. I meant only to suggest that he is keen to inform himself about that country. That is one of the reasons why he wishes to meet with you.’

  Bahram was in quite a belligerent mood now and was not disposed to do anyone’s bidding. ‘Arre! One minute I am Darius, next minute I am Kublai Khan? What does he think? Let him catch some Chinaman. Why I should go?’

  ‘Oh please, Mr Moddie,’ pleaded one of the English ladies. ‘Will you not reconsider?’

  Somewhat mollified, Bahram drummed his fingertips together as he thought about his next step: to be summoned by a man who had only recently been an Emperor was undeniably flattering – but it occurred to him also that it might not be wise to single-handedly confront a General who had routed vast armies. He could almost hear his mother whispering in his ear in Gujarati: If you put your head on a grindstone, then you must expect the pestle.

  Bahram scratched his beard and said: ‘I also have one condition. If I go, my good friend, Mr Karabedian, must accompany me.’

  His interlocutors exchanged doubtful glances. ‘But why is that necessary?’

  ‘Because,’ said Bahram, ‘he is talking French, no? He will be my translator.’

  ‘I’m afraid it may not be possible,’ said the Quartermaster, with a show of firmness. ‘The Bonaparte did not, I might point out, include your friend in his invitation.’

  ‘All right then! Bas! Why to waste time?’ Gathering his robe together, Bahram made as if to rise. ‘I will take leave now.’

  ‘Oh but wait! Mr Moddie, please!’

  The intervention of the ladies settled the matter, and it was agreed that the party would set off at ten the next morning.

  Zadig had, of course, followed the entire exchange from the listening-post and he was deeply grateful to be included in the expedition – so much so that Bahram was even able to negotiate a small reduction in the remaining dues for his berth.

  But it was as much for his own sake as Zadig’s that Bahram had been so firm in demanding his friend’s inclusion: Bahram’s instincts told him that ce
rtain protocols would have to be followed in waiting upon an Emperor, even a deposed one, and he was at a loss to imagine what the appropriate etiquette might be. He had visited several rajas and maharajas and even a titular Badshah – Shah Alam II, who was then the occupant of the tottering Mughal throne in Delhi. These experiences had taught him that kings and emperors were fiercely jealous of their dignity, no matter how diminished their circumstances.

  Zadig was, of course, more widely travelled than Bahram and was better informed about courtly procedures – but even for him, this was an unprecedented situation, and on some aspects of protocol he was almost as uncertain as Bahram. What were they to wear, for instance? Both men had a complement of European-style coats and trousers in their trunks but neither of them was at all eager to exchange his accustomed clothing for those tight-fitting, tailored garments. Besides, reasoned Zadig, Napoleon was sure to be disappointed, was he not, if his Persian prince turned up attired like a colonial clerk? Better, then, to dress in familiar attire – and fortunately they were both in possession of a few garments that would not have looked out of place at any court. In Zadig’s case, these consisted of a sumptuous burumcuk caftan and a gold-embroidered Yerevan waistcoat; for Bahram they were a silver-grey ‘Mughalai’ pyjama with an ornamental izarband drawstring; it was worn with a knee-length jama of cream-coloured silk, embroidered with gold badla. This ensemble was completed by a resplendent outer garment, worn in the fashion of a coat – a choga of blue silk, with a raised collar made of strips of golden kimkhab ribbon. As for headgear, for Zadig the question was easily resolved, by the choice of a tall, sable calpac – but for Bahram, this issue threatened to be the trickiest part of the preparations. His ceremonial turban was over ten feet long and he knew it would be no easy feat to deal with so much cloth in a cabin that was barely large enough for two men to turn around in.

  But their costuming proved less onerous than they had feared: by serving as each other’s valets they were able to squirm and wriggle into their clothes well before the Captain’s ketch was declared to be ready to ferry their party ashore, to Jamestown.