Goddess of Fire

by Bharti Kirchner

  On that day so long ago, I didn’t know my abilities well enough to be able to say: If you would allow me, I could sit between the Factors and the local traders and help bring two sides together.

  “I can see that you wish to be advanced.”

  I studied him. He represented hope, like the rising sun, this dignified man, fair in his dealings, more so than the other Factors. Basking in his radiance, I imagined my future: a jumble of luminous days filled with the thrill of helping to negotiate important business deals.

  “But do you think you’re ready? You’re speaking Bangla with me.”

  My throat went dry, though a strange force within me wouldn’t let me cower. “But it won’t be long before …”

  “We’re starting a new set of trade dealings in a matter of days. Tariq has helped me hire an interpreter. We’ll have to see how he works out, but that’s not really the problem. Most merchants are men, so are our Factors. You, as the only woman present, might feel out of place.”

  I registered his unspoken message; men might not be comfortable in my company. Oh, that silly woman, they’d think. What’s she doing here? Yet I wasn’t ready to give up. A story Sal had told me about an independent kingdom, Virganj, leapt to my mind. Situated only miles from Cossimbazar, it was run by a queen. Like all such noble women, the queen dressed in silks and jewels and was known to lavishly entertain her important guests. She ran her kingdom with kindness and cleverness, and determination, bringing riches and honor to her people.

  “If I may be so bold as to ask this, sir, do you ever have the occasion to deal with a queen, a landowner’s wife, or a merchant’s mother? If so, I could be of help there. In wealthy households, women control the money. A good man would think twice before going against his mother’s commands or his wife’s wishes.”

  Job sahib leaned back in his chair and regarded me thoughtfully. Then he smiled, a slow, lazy smile, but one of recognition, of acknowledgment.

  “You’re clever indeed, he said.”

  To me he said just that, words of immense comfort and encouragement to my parched heart. But there had been more on his mind. Much more.

  The girl, a simple cook, had actually offered him a valuable idea at a time when he worried that the Company’s business expansion was beginning to stall in the face of stiff competition from the Dutch. That wasn’t all. At the time rumors were rife about a group of rival Englishman planning to petition the Crown for a licence to trade with Hindustan, to stop the Company monopoly. His business would surely suffer if they succeeded. And if he didn’t show a profit within three years, he would lose his charter and cease to exist; the English Parliament wanted it that way to foster competition.

  The girl had a bold look in her eyes, bolder than it had been before, wistful, too. Perhaps she thought she hadn’t been advancing fast enough. Yet he had gotten good reports on her. Charles had commented on her rapid progress in English. Arthur had heard her practising English with her kitchen mates and been pleasantly surprised. Only Tariq still found faults with her.

  “She’s too assertive,” Tariq had said to him the other day. “She doesn’t know her place, that village girl. Always sniffing around for more.”

  Now Job chuckled. If only Tariq understood the background of most of the Factors on his staff. However arrogantly they might speak and act, they had traveled this far, practically gambling their life in the process, simply because they hadn’t been able to make it in England. Each was a cast-away, desperate for a break. It would simply be a matter of time. That ambitious village girl, with her drive and her obstinacy, would fit in well with that bunch.

  “I get your point,” he said. “Although we haven’t had any occasions like that so far, a woman interpreter would surely help us to form connections with prominent local women. Some tribal leaders have powerful wives we ought to get to know as well. You’re correct in saying that we’ve neglected an important segment of the Hindustani society. Unfortunately, this is how the Council prefers it to be, at least at this point.”

  At least he thought my idea was sound. I smiled.

  “I think I can trust you. There are rules and regulations the Council imposes on us that I don’t necessarily agree with, although I abide by them and I am always honored to serve the Crown. Someday, however, I’d like to have my own trading company, one that would encompass a much larger geographical area as its base.” His face glowing, he added, “At that point, my vision would take wing.”

  I’d never seen so much excitement in the sahib. I felt a similar spark inside me until I heard him saying, “But getting back to your request, we have another requirement, a most important one. You have to be able to read and write English, record the details of the transaction, such as the parties involved, the discussions that take place, the resolution. How are your writing skills?”

  I couldn’t answer. I could scribble the English alphabet, a few words, and a sentence or two. I looked down at my hands.

  “I am sorry, Maria,” Job sahib said, gently. “We can’t hire you as an interpreter, but keep studying.”

  I couldn’t look at him just then, but I nodded.

  He stood up in one swift move. “Now I must be off.”

  I murmured my thanks. Did I go too far? I replayed the brief encounter in my mind. My hands were empty, but by sharing his secret vision with me, Job sahib had made me feel as though I mattered.

  TWELVE

  A few days later, I strolled to the ghat to take a sacred dip in the river. Fresh from the bath and the sweet, pleasant morning air, I headed out toward the Factory. On the way, I noticed two men, both with graying hair and knives hanging from their waist-belts, staring at me from a short distance. I stared back at them.

  “Isn’t she the widow who caused trouble at the Royal Court?” One of them said loudly.

  “Yes, that’s her,” the other man replied. “She got away, that whore.”

  I gave them a hard look, covered my head with the ghomta, and quickened my pace.

  “Shall we show her how a whore should be treated?”

  Both men hurried toward me, their sandals flopping. A burning sensation constricted my throat. Run! Just then a herdsman with a long procession of wild-eyed goats burst onto the road. Accustomed to these animals, I wove in and out of their knots, listening to their plaintive bleating, quick on my feet. Soon the goats wandered away from me. The two men didn’t have it so easy. Perhaps sensing their aggressiveness, several goats charged at them as a group, pushing with their thick horns. I turned to see an argument ensuing between the herdsman and my would-be attackers. While they battled with the animals and their caretaker, I strode quickly to the other side of the road and eventually reached the Factory. Once inside, I collapsed in relief. Once again, the Factory had saved me.

  In the kitchen, I related the story to Idris, pouring out my hurt and frustration.

  Idris stopped slicing a slab of partridge meat. “Stay away from the ghat for a few days, Maria. Those are goondas. You’ll do well not to leave this compound. Don’t go roaming the streets.” Idris leaned toward me. “It won’t be for long, Maria. Rumor has it that the Nawab will soon abolish the cruel rite of sati and reinforce the Widow Remarriage Act. Your petition has had an effect. If it is enforced, the two goondas will be punishable under the law for their intended action against a widow.”

  “But, Idris, I must go to the water. I can’t forgo my river bath.”

  “Remember to keep yourself well covered.”

  His warning rang in my head as I stirred the porridge. Just then our grocer, bazaar boy as the sahibs called him, appeared at the door. A pair of cymbals hung at his waist; these clattered and announced his presence. Pratap and I came out of the kitchen. The large bamboo basket on the grocer’s head was filled to the brim with fresh produce: potatoes, squashes, leafy greens, and bunches of herbs.

  Grave-faced, the grocer set his basket down on the ground. “Our beloved Nawab, Protector of the Poor and the Needy, left the table in the middle o
f a meal last night. He isn’t feeling well today.”

  I forgot my usual practice of peering into his basket and selecting the best produce.

  “The grand banquet he was supposed to have given has been cancelled,” the grocer continued. “So the Royal Kitchen, which demands the best produce, did not buy from me. Since I had to pay a top price for these vegetables, I will have to pass the cost on to you. The price will be double today.”

  “What an excuse for charging more!” Pratap said. “How do we know you’re telling us the truth?”

  “You don’t trust me?” the grocer said. “You don’t honor our Nawab? Then I am leaving.”

  “I do respect the Nawab,” I said to the grocer. “But we can’t pay more. Our budget is strictly controlled by the sahibs. Look, your produce will be spoiled. Why don’t we buy double our usual amount at the same rate you usually give us? Your profit will not be as much as you expect, but at least you will not suffer a loss.”

  The grocer thought for a moment then grudgingly agreed. As we conducted our negotiations, Arthur-sahib, who was passing by, asked what the matter was. I explained as best as I could.

  “May God protect our Nawab,” the grocer said as he left, seemingly happier now that his basket was less full. “May God protect us all.”

  Arthur sahib smiled faintly and continued on his way.

  At the end of my working hours, with moonlight as my guide, I traversed the long courtyard, skirted the swaying bamboos, and reached the back of the compound. I couldn’t let go of my concerns. As an unaccompanied woman, I wasn’t safe in this compound, either. Already Francis sahib had tried to molest me in my room.

  Alone in my room, I lit a tiny oil lamp. It was time for my studies. I hunched over a stack of rough creamy paper, a quill pen, and a stone inkwell, atop a plank of wood, all items bought at the Company’s expense and donated to me by Charles sahib. I paid little attention to the annoying sounds of a wild dog yelping and a mosquito whining as I scribbled the English alphabet and the words I had learned thus far. I took delight in drawing the loops and curls, placing the dots, slashing the T’s. It was slow-moving as I wrote a word and then waited for the ink to dry before attempting to write another.

  My eyelids were heavy hoods, but I stayed bent over the paper, my hand sweeping across the page as I imitated Charles sahib’s handwriting. The words grew tiny as the night stretched on, the ink started to bleed. Still, with each mark, I discovered a new purpose in me.

  Someone pounded at the door. The wind? A wild dog? An intruder? Who could it be at this hour? I leapt to my feet, a prickling at the back of my neck. “Who’s there?” I called, my voice quivering.

  “Teema.”

  I could barely contain my surprise. I jerked open the door. She stood there, a sheer black scarf about her head, her chin lowered, as though she was embarrassed to call on me.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, clasping her hand and drawing her into the room.

  “Shall we take a stroll?” Carrying the wick-lamp, I stepped outside. We walked toward the far end of the compound. The sahibs never came to this part of the compound, mostly uncared for, where vegetation grew wild. Still, I could hear the voice of my kitchen friends saying, “They don’t take it well when they see us walking all over.” I stayed alert for signs of wild animals, intruders, and molesters.

  “No one will be able to hear us out here,” Teema whispered.

  On this dark night, in the flickering light of the lamp, Teema appeared quite unlike her usual self, smaller somehow. Her movements were more angular, as though a hidden turmoil inside had stolen her grace.

  “Bir has a little joke, you know,” I said lightly to cover my concerns for her. “We have a ghost sweeper. You never see her around, but she keeps the place spotlessly clean.”

  For a second, Teema didn’t speak. Then, her voice rough with emotion, she replied, “The ghost is about to disappear.”

  “What?”

  “I’m leaving this place for good.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Is it due to John Richardson?”

  “Quite,” Teema said. “Since I didn’t jump into his arms, the scoundrel is taking revenge. He’s complained to Tariq, I heard from the other servants. ‘That fallen woman. Why do you keep her on your staff?’ John has also circulated false stories about me in the town: I’m seen in the market too often. Even at night. There are other men. Earlier this evening, Tariq told me he wanted to have a talk with me tomorrow morning. I could tell from the tone of his voice how terribly displeased he was with me. He’d surely send me on my way. I want to save myself the humiliation of a dismissal.”

  “What nonsense! John speaks a bunch of lies. Tariq shouldn’t listen to him. What proof is there? Stand up for yourself. Don’t let lies win.”

  “Shall we sit?” Teema pointed to a grassy spot barely visible in the lamp light. I sat across from her, tucking my feet under me.

  “Lies do win sometimes, Maria. Tariq is protective of the Company’s reputation. You see, John works for a rival English trading post. If he can drag English East India Company’s name through mud, he will, and the Company’s commerce will suffer. The local tradesmen have choices. They can make deals with whoever they like, not necessarily the Company.”

  I couldn’t let her go away so easily. “But it sounds ridiculous that you alone can bring disrepute to an enterprise of this size,” I said to Teema. “Let me speak with the other cooks.”

  “There’s more to it,” Teema said. “You saw the punch house where I used to dance; it was my temple, my home, the reason for my existence. John, that rough, big man, became my first lover. Then, he introduced me to Edward, an acquaintance from England who had joined the Company and dropped by for a drink, and everything changed. Edward was tall, had strong arms, and a thick accent. I couldn’t understand a word he said, but my blood rushed in his presence. Right away, I felt certain he was the one for me.”

  So deep was Teema’s voice, so firm were her words, so intense the light in her eyes even in the semi-darkness, that she broke open a similar longing in me for Job sahib.

  “All day long, my heart would hammer with the secret of my love,” Teema said. “I would stop to consider how my elders would speak behind my back, ruin my character, if they knew of the desire I kept hidden. Then one day Edward found me alone in the dark alley behind the punch house. His eyes flooded with longing. He whispered that I was beautiful, that he wanted me. I shook all objections from my mind, followed my fantasy, and leapt into his arms.

  “That night I danced better than I ever had. Afterwards, Edward and I met in the same dark alley. I was still seeing John, but before long, I gave up all contact with him; but he wouldn’t let go of me so easily. ‘Edward will leave you, crush you, that boor,’ John said. ‘Take it from me. It’s only a matter of time.’ Drunk on happiness, I smiled at John and turned away.”

  In my amazement, in the flickering yellow lamp light, I watched Teema, a spirited woman, only a few years older than me, with a spark of determination in her eyes. At times I envied her the freedom she had, doing exactly what she wanted.

  “One evening, John found us together in that alley, kissing,” Teema said, her voice quavering. “He and Edward got into a fist fight right in front of me—kicking and punching and swearing and hitting. At one point John lost his balance and tumbled on the ground. He scraped his knee, which made him even madder. A Dutch man heard them from inside the punch house, rushed out, and separated them, but John was wild with anger and wouldn’t leave the scene easily. He threatened to hire an assassin and murder both of us. I no longer felt safe going to the punch house after dark, dancing there, or spending my spare hours with Edward in the alley.”

  Fear for one’s life. Threats. I understood those so well. “It seems to me that Edward should have protected you more.”

  “Well, he at least helped me get a job in this Factory, a lowly job as a sweeper, but that was sufficient. To be near Edward, that was all I could dream ab
out. We would sneak a look at each other on the verandah, across the courtyard, outside the meeting hall. I’d wait all day to see him for a few hours late at night in his bedchamber when everyone was asleep. I gave up dancing for him, what thrilled me the most, and yet I didn’t regret it.”

  Teema paused. Job sahib loomed large before me, the yearning that Teema felt strong in my heart.

  The scarf dropped from Teema’s head. “Before long, the other sahibs caught on. They resented our affair, all except Job sahib. He considered it a private matter between us and left us alone. Shortly afterwards, Edward changed. We were together, snuggling in his bed, moonlight outside his window, when he began to call me names. I was a mere sweeper, he said. I could be bought by anybody. Not true, not true at all, I told him.” Tears strangled Teema’s words. “I couldn’t figure out the reason behind Edward’s sudden change in attitude toward me. Within days, he’d snapped up a job in another Factory in the South and left, without saying goodbye to me. I was shattered; I couldn’t even get up from bed for a few days. Then I heard Job sahib had found him the position and gotten him transferred. Take it from me, Maria, the English are two-faced.”

  Cold, invisible fingers swept my back.

  “Let this be a lesson for you,” Teema said. “The sahibs don’t see us as we are, if they see us at all. They have their noses up in the air. Their blood is as cold as that of a snake. I want to tell them: I am not just a woman, not just a sweeper; I have a heart and a soul, I have principles. I know how to love, how to sacrifice for love, how to embrace the dark side of love. I tell you, never get involved with an Englishman. I’ve seen you looking worshipfully at Job sahib. He’ll split your heart open, steal your tenderness, and then drop you. No good will come of it. Rumor has it he’s waiting for the ‘Fishing Fleet.’”

  I stared at Teema’s tear-stained face. “Perhaps not all Englishmen are the same.”