Goddess of Fire

by Bharti Kirchner

  I relayed her thoughts to Job sahib and Tariq. Even when I couldn’t come up with the proper English phrase, I used my voice to full advantage to express the nuances and the emotions, the effort both exhilarating and draining. Under my sari’s edge, my hands trembled.

  Job sahib nodded and replied from the verandah, mixing languages as I did: “I agree. It would be most unwise to make an enemy out of the Nawab under any circumstances.”

  “You aren’t asking me to surrender my Virganj, are you?” Rani Mata asked, her voice tense but firm. “I’ll fight again, if necessary.” Then, eyes narrowing, she whispered. “This Englishman throws in many words and phrases from our native tongue, rare indeed. Clearly, he’s immersed himself in our culture. But is it because he wants to establish a mutually beneficial business partnership or to get the best of our merchants?”

  “The latter might be the motive of some Englishmen, but our sahib—

  Job sahib’s voice interrupted my explanation. “Even a temporary truce with the Nawab might be a better solution.”

  There was truth in his suggestion, but Rani Mata’s face turned red.

  “Truce? They murdered my husband.” Her eyes flashing, she went on to provide details of the slaughter, destruction, and looting at the fort by the Nawab’s troops.

  Both sides now began to reason with each other, like swords flashing and clanging but inflicting no visible wounds. Someday, I thought, I’d like to be as astute, to speak with as much confidence, to have as much awareness of the world around me as Rani Mata.

  “Can we trust this woman?” I overheard Job sahib saying to Tariq. “Could an alliance with her prompt the Mughals to come after us, too?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Tariq replied. “We have to find a way to cool her down.”

  “Ask Rani Mata if she would consent to paying land taxes to the government.” Job sahib said.

  “Land tax? Don’t you know that the Mughal revenue system is exploitative?”

  “It is so,” Job sahib said, his voice somewhat agitated, “but it might benefit you in the long run.” And indirectly benefit the Company, I thought, pleased to see how the sahib’s mind worked, the strategy he had of influencing Rani Mata to ally with the Mughals, before doing trade with her.

  They went back and forth for a while on that topic. As I helped interpret each party’s argument, I made mental notes of the information being shared, in case it came handy in the future. Although tempted by the ripe crescents of mango on the platter, I decided not to indulge in food or drink in front of a sovereign, particularly when the room was thick with apprehension.

  “And do you think that paying land tax to the local Nawab will be sufficient in the end?” Rani Mata asked. “My informers say Emperor Aurangzeb in Delhi, the Nawab of Nawabs, the biggest fish in the pond, is the one pulling the strings. He wants to win over the Marathas in Deccan and take over the independent kingdoms in the East, which is why the regional ruler is hostile to me.”

  Job sahib listened to my translation and replied to Rani Mata, “Then it seems you may want to appease the Emperor as well.”

  Rani Mata’s eyes blazed. “The Emperor is old, sick, and cruel, not to mention stupid. His doctors haven’t been able to cure him so far. Why, when he has carbuncle, does he have to let his horses trample other people’s crop lands? Is he too sick to care?”

  “It is true that Aurangzeb doesn’t have popular support,” Job sahib said. “His court is corrupt, his army is poorly led. He is, as they say, the ‘last flicker of a dying flame’. I think he’ll be around a few more years, though he’s already chosen a successor. However, in the meantime …”

  As I translated, I was stunned at the prediction for the Great Mughal Empire. Who could imagine it crumbling?

  “What would you do if your trading outpost was invaded by the Mughal army?” Rani Mata questioned. “Do you have a defensive force? It is a possibility, you know. Before they go, the Mughals will inflict whatever damage they can.”

  I communicated Rani Mata’s remark and waited breathlessly to hear and interpret Job sahib’s reply. “We have a limited number of Company troops,” he said. For my benefit, he sprinkled his views with Bangla words as often as he could. “But the Crown will provide me with troops and weaponry. A powerful fleet from England will arrive soon, the Bengal Fleet, with ample weapons and ammunition. We’ll have more than sufficient strength to counteract the Nawab.”

  So we expected a war at our doorstep?

  A deep silence ensued as both parties pondered possible strategies to ward off a Mughal invasion. “You might wish to make a gift to the Emperor,” Job sahib said. “To keep him in good humor, as they say.”

  “What gift? He, the King of Kings, sits on the Peacock Throne. Doesn’t he have all he needs?”

  “Not really.” Job sahib gave a list of nazrana regularly brought by English ships for delivery to the Emperor, luxury goods that pleased him: knives, mirrors, wine, and English horses.

  “I don’t have any foreign goods to offer him,” Rani Mata said.

  “We can be of help,” Job sahib said.

  As I translated that statement, a piece of information exchanged earlier in the conversation flashed across my mind. Here was a chance to leap beyond the limits of my job. I would make a daring suggestion, one that might aid Rani Mata in her ability to change the attitude of the Emperor more effectively than a mere exchange of gifts.

  “You’ve said the Emperor is ailing,” I said eagerly to Rani Mata. “And you have the best physicians in the region. Might you be able to send a team of physicians to Delhi to treat the Emperor’s carbuncle?”

  “What a wise plan!” Job sahib exclaimed from the verandah. I turned to the queen and interpreted his remark. “Suppose the Emperor regained his health,” Job sahib continued, “that would certainly win him over.” Not getting any response from Rani Mata, Job sahib began to recount the story of the early English envoy, Sir Thomas Roe, who had ingratiated himself with Emperor Jahangir by supplying him with, among other things, medicine from England. Upon regaining health, the Emperor offered the envoy a permanent position in his court. He became the first ambassador from England. “When a man is ailing, even if he is a monarch, his first thought, his only thought, is about getting well, wouldn’t you say? Possibly the biggest gift you could make him.”

  “Treat him?” Rani Mata said. “I despise him. Do you know what he did to a group of innocent Hindu pilgrims who were protesting against the jizia tax that had been imposed on them? A train of elephants were allowed to run wild, to destroy any and all that crossed their paths. Hundreds of protesters were strewn on the ground like crushed insects, their cries splitting the sky, their blood soaking the earth.”

  “Aren’t you placing your personal feelings over the well-being of your people?” Job sahib asked.

  “Job sahib suggests it would be beneficial to consider what the Emperor would do to your own people now if you defy him. There’s nothing you can do for those poor souls the Emperor treated so cruelly earlier, but you can do something to spare your own subjects a similar fate.”

  Even though Rani Mata nodded, she didn’t seem convinced. They continued their arguments about priorities for a considerable period of time. As often as I could, I interpreted their dialogue creatively to reduce the distance between them and strove to draw them together into a compromise. Eventually, Rani Mata softened her stand. I saw her body relaxing into the cushion. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Rani Mata turned to me, her face catching the yellow rays of the afternoon. “How clever you are, my dear girl. Yes, I’ll take your suggestion and send my best physicians to Delhi. Let them examine the Emperor and suggest some herbal cure. To my knowledge, one such cure does exist.”

  Tariq, who’d been quiet until now, said, “Suppose the Emperor doesn’t trust your physicians and …”

  “My physicians are known for their code of ethics.” Rani Mata cut him off sharply. “They’ll never harm a patient, regardless o
f who he is. Besides, don’t you know that the Emperor has a set of plates and glasses specially made to test for poison? Any poisonous ingredient falling into them, be it food or medicine, will instantly discolor them.”

  “I’ve seen such a custom being employed at our local Nawab’s Palace as well,” Job sahib said.

  “I’ll get the physicians ready for the long journey.” Rani Mata paused. “Then I’ll do my pratikkha,” she said. Although I translated the word as “period of waiting”, I was well aware that ‘pratikkha’ implied much more. It spoke of humility, reverence, and prayerfulness while one waited; a whole concept rolled into a word which had no equivalent in English, not to my limited knowledge that day.

  Rani Mata rewarded me with a warm smile. “Now, can we talk about trade?”

  I began to translate, this time adding my own opinion about the quality of Rani Mata’s clothes and jewelry and the lush décor of her room. Eagerly, Job sahib replied that the Company would consider purchasing fine silk fabric from Rani Mata, as well as elaborate wall hangings to be sold in the London market.

  Rani Mata leaned toward me and murmured: “Should I trust the Company? Should I trust this Englishman? And his assistant?”

  “Please allow me to speak confidentially.” I whispered to her an account of my earlier history, of having to face cremation, of escaping with a group of strangers, and eventually landing on my feet. “I can’t say it has been a perfect life for me, my pillow is wet at night from my tears, but …”

  “You’re still a servant though,” Rani Mata said to me in a low voice. “I don’t trust the English. They come from afar, they’re aliens. Like the Dutch, the French, and the Portuguese who arrived before them, they want to grab what they can. Right now they’re weak. The Mughals are stronger. For now, who knows who will be more dangerous in the future? I might have exchanged one enemy for another. Regardless, I’ll work with both until the situation becomes clearer. Tell the Englishman, my broker will visit his Factory soon.”

  My heart felt as though it was being split into two. I remained loyal to the Company for giving me employment and indebted to Job sahib for rescuing me from death. In fact, I swelled with affection for him, but Rani Mata’s words struck deep within me, making me aware of what I didn’t want to admit to myself: a possible British takeover of our land. On that day so far in the past, sitting on a velvet cushion, in a quiet village far from the seat of trade and government, I trembled as I envisioned the future.

  Once I recovered, I broke the good news to Job sahib. His voice soaring with elation, he laid out the subsequent steps: check out textile samples, negotiate the prices, and firm up a delivery schedule. At sahib’s request, I asked Rani Mata how we could set up a trading session in our Factory in the near future.

  I’d barely finished the sentence when I noticed the aide hovering at the door, his eyes filled with dread. At Rani Mata’s nod, he flew in, one hand extended in a gesture of protection.

  “Your pardon, Gracious Queen,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I’ve received the news that soldiers on the road are inquiring about a wedding party. They’re not very far away. They’ve been misdirected to another village. But we must take you to a secluded location at once. This meeting will have to be adjourned.”

  “Where are the bojjats?” Rani Mata asked. “How much time do we have?”

  “A few minutes, only.”

  Both Rani Mata and I hurried to our feet. I relayed the aide’s warning to Job sahib and Tariq. Rani Mata pulled her veil back over her head. “I’ll send a broker to your trading lodge soon and we’ll continue the negotiation process.” She wrapped me in a momentary embrace and whispered, “Should you ever need a job or a place of refuge, please don’t hesitate to call on me. You’ll be most welcome in my fortress.”

  “That’s most kind of you, Your Excellency.” I touched her feet, she wished me a safe journey, and I slipped out the door.

  At the gate, Job sahib and Tariq conferred with the bearers. Job sahib turned to me, “Thanks to you, Maria, we’ve forged a solid contact.” His gaze held mine longer than usual.

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  “Your translation was a tad peculiar at times,” Tariq said to me, with a dismissive laugh.

  My face grew warm with embarrassment. “Next time an interpreter is needed, perhaps you’d be a better fit, although you’ll have to learn different Bangla dialects. You might even have to disguise yourself as a woman, should we visit a queen.”

  Tariq’s face became dark. “You need to watch your bearing, Maria, or you’ll find yourself in a bad way.”

  “You mean like the Company has found itself now?”

  Tariq looked angrier. Job sahib stepped in closer and smiled at me.

  I turned to a bearer and asked, “Is there another route?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “While you were at the meeting, we asked around. There is another route through a jungle. The soldiers don’t attempt to go through there, but it is hardly desirable because of poisonous snakes.”

  “And mosquitoes,” announced a second bearer. “The most blood-thirsty ones.”

  “Don’t forget the tigers,” said the third. “They’re even more blood-thirsty. These villagers have a proverb for this last one: ‘It gets dark about the time you arrive at the spot where there are tigers.’”

  For a moment all of us stood in silence.

  “Excuse me, sahib,” a fourth bearer called out in an unnaturally high voice. “I can hear the soldiers coming.”

  “Let us be off.” Job sahib’s eyes fleeted over my face in concern. Was there affection in them too? “God help us.”

  NINETEEN

  On the return journey in the palanquin, we passed through a field flecked with wild flowers, then forced our way through a dense forest. The ride was cooler, pleasanter than on the open road, but I was worried, frightened. What if the soldiers traced us? I looked out the window and almost screamed. A large snake, with an olive-green body, was draped over a tree branch ahead of my palanquin. My heart leapt. We passed under the branch and the snake disappeared from view. A second later, its hood brushed the roof of the conveyance and the snake became visible again. I had little time to worry about it making its way inside before a swarm of mosquitoes invaded us. Although I covered myself as best as I could with my sari, there was no escaping their bites. Every so often I would picture Rani Mata’s luminous face and a light of inspiration would burn inside me.

  A bearer began to wail. “Help! I can’t take it anymore.”

  From inside the palanquin, I peered at him. His shoes were torn, feet bloodied and blistered, face swollen from mosquito bites; he was barely marching. One of the spare bearers took over his duties while he, sweating profusely, crawled into my palanquin and fell asleep on the floor. I squeezed to one side of the bench and covered my nose with the sari train, almost immediately chiding myself for my attitude.

  Toward dusk, a storm caught us and caused further delay. It was almost night by the time we got off the palanquin and trudged through the Factory gate, wet, hungry, and fatigued, but delighted to be alive.

  Eyelids heavy but his face holding the warmth of appreciation—or was it affection?—Job sahib approached me. “Do you suppose Rani Mata will back up her words with appropriate actions?”

  A sweet thrill bubbled inside me. The Chief Factor was seeking my opinion! “Yes, sir, I do. You should have seen how eager she was to make a deal with us. She’s shrewd, and she looks to the future.”

  “It’s a first for us, to trade with a queen, and the results far exceeded my expectation. Thanks to the interpretation you did, it has opened a new avenue for us.” He chuckled. “And we didn’t get killed on the road, either.”

  Turning to Tariq, he said, “Please see to it that Maria is amply rewarded. Also pay a substantial bakshish to the porters and the guards.”

  The sahib met my gaze and held it for an instant. How this remarkable day had changed everything between us.

  In the mo
rning, fatigued but happy, I was on my way to the kitchen when I noticed Tariq’s tall figure emerging from the stable.

  “Maria!”

  From the keen look in his one good eye I could tell that he had an urgent matter to discuss. Instead of blurting it out, he stared down at me and indulged in unexpected niceties. Did I sleep well last night? Wasn’t the morning pleasant? Wouldn’t more rain be welcome?

  “Were you going to ask me something?” I asked.

  “Job sahib has asked that you be assigned better accommodation; I have one available. Come, let me show you.”

  I suppressed the joyous shriek that rose to my throat. He hustled me to the back of the mansion’s main wing, in the same facility as the sahibs’ residential quarters and a long stroll from the servants’ hovels. He opened the door to a room and waved me in, saying, “This was intended for guests, but rarely used.”

  I stepped into a tiny, bright, airy chamber sporting a high ceiling and a tiled floor that could use a bit of cleaning. I’d have to wait till the afternoon to sweep and dust the floor to remove the insects, dry leaves, and flower petals that had floated in through the open window. A low charpoy, a cot of strong thick ropes knotted and stretched across a wooden frame, stood next to a wall. In the opposite corner, there rested a stool and a stand for hanging clothes. A lattice window offered a view of the Eastern sky, an inverted bowl of blue streaked with gold. My people considered a view of the rising sun a blessing for the day ahead. I pressed the palms of my hands together at my chest and gazed upward at the sun.

  Tariq stared at me. “I presume this will suit you?”

  I could only nod. I was grateful to Job sahib. Although he didn’t employ me as an interpreter, he’d offered me better lodging. Then, it dawned on me; I’d be closer to the sahibs’ bedchambers. My mind floated back to two separate unpleasant incidents with Francis sahib and Charles sahib. I felt a stirring at the back of my neck.

  “You can move in any time you like. I’ll also give you a little extra pay to buy better clothes.”