Goddess of Fire

by Bharti Kirchner

  Would the Council back us financially? Would Job help me?

  I went back to visit the villages several times, gazed longingly at the green fields, gem-like ponds, and groves of fruit trees; held long conversations with the locals and inquired as to what they needed the most.

  “Houses, jobs, tools,” they sang out, “a place where children can study with a teacher.”

  Although Job declined to accompany me on these strenuous visits, Mary did. She loved to ride in the palanquin. Upon arrival, she’d stoop down to touch the water lilies in the ponds, taste the freshly harvested palm syrup, play hide-and-seek with the local children. If Job had his doubts about this project, staying non-committal when I asked about it, I never did. Finally, my planning was complete.

  A rider on horseback picked up the long document containing my full proposal to the Council. It would be weeks before I heard from them, and so I resigned myself to a period of anxious waiting, my pratikkha.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Weeks went by. There was no response from the Council. Each day seemed interminable; the hours hung heavy, punctuated only by the clock’s monotonous ticking.

  One morning, a rumor about the Dutch East India Company, a far bigger and more established trading company than ours, reached my ears. They had acquired more land in Chinsura to build a fort, augment their trading presence, and exercise judicial power. I sat at my desk in shock. Not only did I have a grudge against the Dutch for abducting my brothers and possibly murdering them, but I also feared they would run the Company into the ground with their cut-throat competition. We were only a fraction of the size of the Dutch EIC. If the Council delayed our plan, we might soon be forced to close our doors.

  Midday, I went upstairs with Mary in my arms. My darling child was sick. Her mouth half-open, her ever-alert eyes closed, she whispered. “Mama, I miss you when you go away.” She looked lovely in her white chemise and stockings; her glossy black hair was matted and damp from the fever, the flower-petal eyelids half shut. I lowered her onto the bed and covered her with a warm quilt. Had I done the right thing by taking up this mammoth project? Was it worth being away from my daughter for long periods of time?

  My gaze fell on the side table on which rested an oversized official letter written on fine heavy paper. I recognized the Council of Directors’ stamp on it. Breathless with anticipation, I picked it up. It had arrived three days ago and had already been opened. The first sentence read:

  “We, the Council, do not approve of the stated plan to build a large settlement near Hooghly.”

  The members of the Council further proposed that instead a fort be erected. “… a walled fort, a White Town, for the English only.”

  My mind empty, fingers numb, I finished scanning the rest of the missive; it contained further justification for their decision, justification with which I disagreed.

  Job swooped in, carrying an umbrella. He was pale, with a yellow cast to his eyes. “I’m going to the punch house.” He turned away.

  “Please wait. I’d like to speak with you. You haven’t mentioned this important letter.”

  He shrugged. “Oh, I must have forgotten,” he said in a breezy manner.

  I struggled with his casual response. It was affecting my mind and body. My ashen-faced reflection in the mirror bothered me every time I stood before it. My body ached, I felt exhausted all the time. Yet, it was important that I continued to dream about expanding our business, to plan for it.

  His face blank, Job half-turned towards the door; he didn’t seem to care.

  “Did you read the letter?”

  He turned toward me. “Aye, looks like they’ve changed our plan.”

  Why was his voice so bland, lacking even any hint of frustration? I stood still, perplexed. “How can the Council possibly dictate that the villagers will not be allowed inside the fort?”

  “Quite obvious I’d say, after our experience at Cossimbazar. You will of course be a part of it. You’re my wife, you speak English, and you’re like us. We could employ the locals, but they’d have to put up their huts at a considerable distance. A high thick wall would surround our compound for safety’s sake. We will not allow any outsiders to enter.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “That’s preposterous! Those villagers are bound to their land. They’ve been so for generations. Even if we buy land from the zamindar, it’s really theirs.”

  “Higher authorities than you have decided otherwise.”

  “You can’t possibly agree with such a scheme,” I said, my voice hesitant, sad.

  “You must have noticed that our Factors are not comfortable around the locals.” A note of bitterness crept into Job’s voice. “After what we went through in Cossimbazar, they’ve become wary. Surely, you’ve also noticed how glad they are to let you handle all the local contacts.They want to live in a place where there will only be English people, and possibly other Europeans. Word of their feelings has gotten back to the Council, hence the decision. I think it’s eminently fair.”

  There was more, I suspected. No mixing of colors, Sal’s voice echoed in my mind from years back, as did Teema’s; there’s a color bar, she’d said.

  “This land belongs to us, the Hindustani people,” I shot back. “You can’t build a White Town and shut us out. Such a plan is doomed to fail. Over time people will see the inequities, the barriers keeping them out, and they’ll rise up against the Company. Without the support of the populace, the Company can’t expect to succeed in any commercial venture, especially when the Dutch are in the picture.”

  “Why are you so bent on helping those peasants?”

  It was as though I’d been slapped in the face. My outrage flared into open anger. “You forget I am one of them! Who grows our food crops, supplies our trade material, and helps facilitate the transfer of goods? We wouldn’t live in such comfort were it not for them. They deserve a portion of our profit. They deserve to live better. People say particularly of the silk spinners that they dress others but their children go naked.” I softened my tone, “Let’s try to offer a counterproposal to the Council.”

  “No. As you surely must understand by now, their word is final. A castle for the English, that is as far as they’ll go.”

  I took a deep breath to collect myself. “Well, apparently they haven’t heard about the latest development then.” I informed Job about the Dutch plan of building a fort in Chinsura. “If we want to offset the Dutch advantage, then we must motivate people to support us by offering them economic benefits, superior to what the Mughals have done, superior also to that of the Dutch. In fact, we should show them how we’re different from our competition by building a settlement open to all. Give them a reason to come to us and I have no doubt they’ll support our venture and help it succeed.”

  Job’s expression made it clear he remained unconvinced.

  “I must contact the Council and try to change their position while there is still time,” I continued. “Don’t you think that would be the most appropriate course of action?”

  “No. I won’t permit it! I too am opposed to your plan, as I have been from the beginning. It is bound to fail.”

  I stared at him, open-mouthed and hurt. “But Job,” I said, my voice shaking, “Why didn’t you try to change my mind earlier, discuss with me? Have you no respect for my feelings, my dreams?”

  I watched him lean away from me, his arms tight around his chest, the air in the room thick. I couldn’t take it anymore. An unbridgeable chasm had opened between us. “I am going to contact the Council on my own,”

  He snatched the letter from my hand, the force of the action moment-arily unsteadying me. “I forbid you.” His voice was thick with anger and frustration.

  “Then I will resign from the Company.” He stood stunned.

  “Listen to me, Job. All these years, I’ve obeyed you, even when I believed you were wrong. No more. The time has come for me to stand up for my own rights and those of my people. I love you, Job, I always will. I have
never loved anyone this deeply, never known as much happiness as I have with you, but now I must sacrifice that life. This is a higher calling and I must respond to it. Once you claimed to hear that call, but it is clear you no longer do.”

  He remained silent, staring off into the distance. I wanted to clasp his hand, touch his face, lean in to his chest, and feel the real answer inside him. Why couldn’t he look at me? How had it come to this?

  My voice broke. “If that’s how you feel, then I … I should leave.”

  He stirred, came closer, tossed the letter to the floor, gripped my shoulders, and shook them violently. “What did you say?”

  I simply couldn’t figure out what was going on in his mind. Then a dreadful thought occurred to me: His illness had taken over his mind and caused him to toss those cruel remarks at me. I stepped closer, gazed into his eyes, and tried to put my arms around him, but he resisted and stepped back a few paces.

  Humiliation, anger, and sorrow flooded my insides, followed by dread. The man standing before me was no longer the man I had married. I’d seen a tendency toward violence in him before, but it had never been directed at me. I peered at him, a flicker of hope inside me that I would still be able to reason with him.

  His eyes turned icy blue and he replied in a harsh voice, “Don’t you understand, it is not your place to tell the Factors or the Council how to run the Company? I am in charge. You’re my wife and I expect you to follow my instructions.”

  “But, Job, what I don’t understand, what I really don’t understand, is why you’re speaking so horribly to me. Could it be that your illness has spread? May I please have Idris summon a doctor?”

  His eyes flared in indignation. “I am just fine, thank you. I don’t need a doctor. What I do need is an obedient wife. I won’t have you going against my wishes, is that clear? You must do what I tell you to do. There will be consequences if …”

  “Our marriage vows made us equal partners,” I replied. “I can’t live under those restrictions. I am leaving you and taking Mary with me.”

  “Don’t ever try that, Maria.”

  Maria. The name he’d bequeathed me, the name that still sounded so fresh, so glorious, the name that had helped me stitch a new quilt of life. Despite that catch of emotion in his voice, I could tell he did, indeed, prefer that I leave. I wanted to close my ears to the message he so clearly spoke with his stern mouth, his cold back, his dispassionate eyes. What had happened to the man I had married? Had his illness so changed him? In front of me, I saw the ruin of a man, the destruction of a marriage, the toppling of what we called our kingdom, years flying away like stray petals in the wind.

  My limbs shaking, his threat ringing in my ears, I again studied Job. He was no longer a robust man, but could he hurt Mary? I took a few steps closer to the bed and wondered, with a lurching stomach, if Idris and Sahira were downstairs. Could they hear us? Would they respond if I shouted for help?

  “Mama! Papa!” Mary cried out from the bed; she tried to prop herself up, then fell back again. “Mama, why is your face so red? Papa, please don’t hurt my mama.”

  Shamefaced, Job turned, glanced at Mary, and stomped out of the room. I heard him running down the staircase, slamming the front door. I leaned over the bed, scooped Mary up into my arms, drew her close to my chest, and held her tight, her safety my biggest concern. For a moment she nestled snugly, innocently, soft to the touch, then opened her eyes. “Why are you crying, Mama?”

  I pictured the three guns Job had in his drawer; gleaming, malevolent weapons primed and ready to kill. I held Mary tighter. My stomach lurched; there was little time left. Mary peered at me, as though trying to grasp what had transpired, and then she closed her eyes again. I put her back to bed, picked up the letter from the floor, put it back on the side table, and quickly descended the stairs.

  In the hallway, I found Idris, his face a mask of concern tinged with panic.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “What has come over Job sahib?” He asked in a low voice. “He pushed me out of the way for no reason. I’d have tripped on the carpet, except …”

  “I am sorry, Idris.”

  Idris faced me, his eyes brimming with compassion. “I must now see you to safety.”

  I got hold of myself and thought quickly. “Mary and I will go to Rani Mata’s fort. Please arrange for a palanquin, and please, keep my where-abouts secret from Job.”

  Idris wiped his eyes. “I surely will.”

  “Will you be alright here alone in this house with him?”

  “With Allah’s help, I’ll manage. The sahib and I have seen each other through the worst of times when we escaped from Cossimbazar. If I have any destiny at all as a servant, that is now tied with the sahib’s. He’s not well; I must take care of him. I’ll return shortly with a palanquin.”

  In a cold, unsettled mood, I packed only a few necessary items. Then I spent the next half-hour preparing my letter of resignation for the Council. I stated my reasons and also gave them an account of the increased competition from the Dutch. I asked Idris, who had returned, to have the letter dispatched to the Council immediately via a courier.

  I asked Sahira if she would accompany me.

  “Oh, yes, my mistress,” she said. “I’ll go with you. It doesn’t matter where I work, as long as I get to see my husband.” She paused. “I am a simple woman, I say what I think. Your husband doesn’t spend time with you. His eyes have a bad color. I don’t envy you anymore. Mine is an ordinary laborer, but every night he holds me and says I am his guiding star.”

  Long ago, Job used to call me his guiding light, his ruby, his queen.

  I slipped out the front door with Mary and Sahira. The palanquin and the white-vested porters waited at the gate. We said our farewells to Idris as he helped us into the conveyance. As we started to move away, he kept waving at us, a lonely figure among the trees. Misty-eyed, I glanced around at the familiar surroundings—the house, the garden, the balcony, the gray-blue waves of the river. Crowds of people chanted, meditated, oiled their bodies or bathed on the ghat, as though nothing had changed.

  “Where are we going, Mama?” Mary asked after a time.

  “To Rani Mata’s house. It’s big. You’ll like it.”

  “Is Papa not coming with us?”

  For Mary’s sake, I had to stay strong.

  In the two months that followed, in spite of the hospitality Rani Mata extended to us, I still found myself torn by love, fear, and emotions I couldn’t name, tormented day and night. I played with Mary and helped Rani Mata in her administrative work, but I missed Job. Day and night, my thoughts centered on him; he trailed me like a shadow. I missed our house in Hooghly and the constant clamor of trade activities. I felt as though a part of me had been amputated.

  One afternoon, I sat with Rani Mata by the window, a bowl of red hibiscus flowers between us. The golden shimmer of the sun accentuated the yellow of her silk. Her abundant hair was caught up in a loose bun and a necklace formed of red gems encircled her throat. Her eyes were wide with concern. Although she feared an invasion of her fort by the Nawab’s forces, she maintained the confident pose of a queen who lived for her people, who would pick up the sword at a moment’s notice.

  She pointed to a plate of freshly made coconut rounds garnished with almond bits. Mary picked up a round, examined it, and began to nibble on it. As I watched her, my face softened. How much she resembled Job; those river-green eyes, the way she stood. The ache in my heart would not be eased until I saw him again.

  “You’re not eating?” Rani Mata asked me.

  “I am not hungry.”

  “You fret too much,” Rani Mata said. “You’re so young. You have many years ahead of you to make your hopes and dreams come true.”

  “I gave so much of my life to Job and the Company. Did I make a mistake?”

  “Mistakes can be corrected.You can choose a different arena to play, if you so wish. Consider the current political upheavals. All across
our land people are rising against Mughal rule. The Marathas, who are a tough bunch, have set an example. In the meantime, Emperor Aurangzeb is in the South, with his cavalry. Foolish man, he won’t ever fully win there. To my mind, he’s already finished. Small kingdoms like mine might, after all, get a chance to flourish.”

  In this beautiful, sun-drenched room, this news weighed on me like a physical burden. “Ah, so,” I sighed. Then after a pause, I said, “You want to keep me here, I suppose.”

  “I have wanted that to happen from the very first time I met you,” Rani Mata said. “Call me selfish. I know that you’ve given much of your life to Job and the Company, but I’d caution you. Please reconsider your course. The English don’t consider us as their equals. What do you hope to get by working for them? Surely, the Mughal rule will fall and leave a vacuum, and the English, the devious ones, will fill it. If they gain power, they will stay a long time, although it’ll not be an easy win. You’ll have blood in your hands by causing your people to …”

  “You’re asking me to leave my husband and the life I’ve built with him?”

  “What brought you here?” Rani Mata asked. “Why are you not by your husband’s side?”

  As I pondered her severe questions, a manservant entered and bowed. “Someone is here to visit you,” he said to me excitedly. “His name is Idris Shah. He’s waiting outside. He says it’s important. Do you care to receive him?”

  I stood. “Oh, yes! Send him up.”

  “He says he prefers to speak with you in private.”

  I excused myself and rushed through winding passageways to reach the entrance to the fortress. Idris stood under the canopy of a peepul tree. I examined him from a distance. Not only had he grown thinner, but he had also aged in the last two months. Strands of silver streaked his gray-black hair. His bowed head betrayed a sense of resignation.

  “Idris!” I called out, drawing near.

  He raised his eyes to mine. “You must come home at once, Maria. Job sahib is not feeling well.”