Flood of Fire

by Amitav Ghosh

  With that Mrs Burnham turned around and made her way down to the maindeck, with her parasol on her shoulder. Zachary followed a few steps behind and stood in the shadows, watching as her posture grew more erect. By the time Mr Burnham stepped on deck she had completely regained her usual air of regal indifference. Watching the couple together, as they exchanged a brisk kiss and a few quiet words, Zachary was seized with admiration, not just for her but also for her husband, who was the picture of calm mastery.

  ‘May I take the skiff now, dear?’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘I thought I would go to Macau to make a few calls.’

  ‘Yes of course, dear,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘And if I may, I will charge you with an errand.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You will perhaps remember Mrs Moddie, who we had once met in Bombay? I think I mentioned to you, didn’t I, that she would be travelling to Macau on the Hind? Her late husband was my colleague on the Select Committee – a most remarkable man. Indeed, this expeditionary force might not be here today if not for Mr Moddie; at a crucial meeting of the committee, it was Mr Moddie who helped carry the day by standing fast in the defence of freedom.’

  ‘Yes, I remember, dear,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘You told me about it.’

  ‘Well, I gather Mrs Moddie is now at the Villa Nova, her nephew’s house on the Praya Grande. I was thinking that we should invite her to our New Year’s levée.’

  ‘Yes of course we must, dear,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘I’ll be sure to call on her.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’ Mr Burnham bent down to kiss his wife on the cheek.

  *

  Only after the skiff had departed did Mr Burnham turn to Zachary. ‘Come, Reid,’ he said, leading the way to the quarter-deck. ‘I’m sure you have a lot to tell me.’ ‘Yes, sir.’

  For the next half-hour they paced the deck together as Zachary talked about his voyages, on the Hind and the Ibis, and his sales of opium, in Singapore and along the China coast. Mr Burnham listened carefully but said very little, only nodding from time to time to indicate his approval. But he broke his silence when Zachary mentioned Lenny Chan.

  ‘Mr Chan’s a very useful man to know, Reid; very useful indeed!’

  Mr Burnham’s approbation became even more animated when Zachary showed him the accounts and explained that he had netted a profit of close to a million dollars on this one voyage: from these figures alone it was evident, that despite the best efforts of the Chinese government, the hunger for opium was only growing stronger and stronger, especially among the young.

  ‘Shahbash, Reid! Splendid!’ cried Mr Burnham. ‘The rise in prices is proof of the power of the marketplace; a demonstration of the folly of those who would try to thwart the workings of nature’s divinely ordained laws. To confound the tyrants is to do the Lord’s work – a day will surely come when young Free-Traders such as yourself will be regarded as Apostles of Liberty.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Zachary gratefully. ‘It was a pleasure to be of service. If there is anything else I can do I hope you will let me know.’

  At this Mr Burnham’s expression turned pensive and he seemed to experience a rare moment of uncertainty. ‘Well, Reid,’ he said at last, ‘although you’ve done very well so far you’re still young. I am not sure you are ready for other challenges.’

  ‘Oh but please, sir,’ said Zachary earnestly, ‘I do hope you will give me a chance to prove myself!’

  Mr Burnham turned aside, as though to weigh conflicting considerations. Then, coming to a decision, he put an arm around Zachary’s shoulder and led him across the deck.

  ‘Your hunger for self-improvement is most impressive, Reid. But you do understand, don’t you, that certain matters must be kept in the strictest confidence?’

  ‘Oh yes indeed, sir. I shall not breathe a word.’

  ‘Well then, Reid, look ahead of you.’

  Leading Zachary to the bulwark, Mr Burnham raised a hand to point to the Wellesley and the Druid, which were anchored a short distance away.

  ‘Assembled in these waters are thousands of soldiers and sailors from many parts of the British Empire. Every one of them must be fed, several times a day, according to their tastes and prejudices. Of all those men the hardest to feed are sepoys, especially Bengal sepoys, because they adhere to a great variety of dietary rules. They will eat nothing but their familiar provisions: grains, lentils, dried vegetables, spices and the like. Fortunately these foods are cheap and easily available in their own country – but overseas they are often difficult to find. This sometimes results in a situation that is very well suited to the operation of the first law of commerce.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand, sir.’

  ‘To buy cheap and sell dear,’ said Mr Burnham, ‘is the first law of commerce, is it not?’

  ‘Oh I see, sir!’ said Zachary. ‘What you mean is that those foods are cheap in India but dear over here?’

  ‘Exactly! And if someone happens to possess a ship that is loaded with such provisions – and I will not conceal from you that the Annahita is one such – the opportunity for profit is boundless. But in order to dispose of cargoes like these the co-operation of one or two officers is almost always necessary. And that is the trouble – to obtain the co-operation of military men is not always easy, for many of them harbour a perverse suspicion of commerce. Indeed it could be said that as a class they are no less benighted than the Celestials in their hostility to the God-given laws of the market.’ ‘Really, sir?’

  ‘Yes – regrettably it is all too true. But fortunately there are always a few who understand that God would not have endowed Man with a love of profit if it were not for his own good. If assured a share of the gains, they are often very helpful. Many are able to exert great influence on the purchasing officers of their commissariats.’

  ‘But how are such men to be found, sir?’

  ‘Through careful observation and hard work, Reid. The most important task is to collect information: to find out, for example, which officers are living above their means and are being dunned by tradesmen. On an expedition like this one you can be sure that there are many such – they volunteer precisely in the hope of gaining enough prize money to satisfy their creditors.’

  Now Mr Burnham began to drum his fingertips on the deck-rail.

  ‘I do not mind telling you, Reid, that I have my eye on an officer who may be just the man we need. I met him on the Wellesley a few days ago and was able to observe him at cards. He is exactly the kind of headstrong, free-spending fellow who is likely to be mired in debt. But I suspect he is hot-tempered too so he may not be easy to approach. It is sure to be a challenge.’

  Mr Burnham paused to turn a speculative eye on Zachary. ‘I am of a mind, Reid, to let you handle him. Do you think you are up for it?’

  Answering on impulse Zachary said: ‘Why of course, sir! You can count on me.’

  ‘Good,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘I will leave him to you then. He will be attending our New Year’s levée – his name is Captain Neville Mee.’

  That he would name the one officer with whom he had almost come to blows was the last thing that Zachary had expected: an exclamation of alarm rose to his lips but he was able to bite it back in time.

  Fortunately Mr Burnham did not seem to have noticed his discomfiture. ‘Do you happen to know Captain Mee?’

  ‘A little,’ said Zachary hesitantly. ‘He was on the Hind too.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘I’d forgotten about that. It’s certainly propitious that you are already acquainted with him. Do you think you might be able to obtain his co-operation?’

  To bribe Captain Mee would be no easy thing, Zachary knew, but now that he had committed himself he could not bring himself to recant. ‘I can certainly try, sir. I will do my best.’

  *

  Outside the gates of Dinyar Ferdoonjee’s villa was a bench, facing the Praya Grande: often, when Captain Mee was invited to a tiffin or luncheon at th
e villa, Kesri would wait there so that they could return to Saw Chow Island together.

  Kesri was sitting on that bench, waiting for Captain Mee to emerge from the villa after a late luncheon, when he noticed a memsahib walking briskly in his direction, her skirts swinging like the casing of a bell. She was wearing a wide hat with a netted veil hanging from the brim; on her shoulder rested a white parasol trimmed with lace.

  When it became clear that the memsahib was heading for the villa, Kesri rose respectfully to his feet and held the gate open. He thought she would sweep past, with at best a nod for him. But instead she came to a halt and cocked her head, at such an angle that Kesri found himself looking directly into the visor of netting that covered her face. Then, to Kesri’s astonishment, a low throaty voice emerged from the shelter of the veil, addressing him by name, in Hindustani: Kesri Singh? Mujhe pehchana nahi? Don’t you recognize me?

  He shook his head dumbly, squinting into her veil: not till then did she realize that her face was hidden from his eyes. With a flick of her wrist, she threw back the netting.

  Abh? Do you recognize me now?

  After scanning her face once, twice and yet again, Kesri mumbled, in a hoarse, disbelieving voice: Cathy-mem? Aap hai kya? Is it you?

  She laughed and continued, in Hindustani: Hã Kesri Singh! It’s me.

  Kesri saw now, hidden within the contours of her visage, the chrysalis of the girl he had known some twenty years before, when he had served as her gun-bearer. He recalled the directness and spontaneity that had made such an impression on him then, and it seemed to him of a piece with the way she had stopped to talk to him now. Yet, even though her face had filled out, he noticed also that it was suffused with a kind of melancholy.

  Maaf karna – forgive me, Cathy-mem, he said, for not recognizing you. But you look different somehow.

  She laughed. Aap bhi – you too have changed, Kesri Singh, except for your eyes. That was why I recognized you, even though so much time has passed.

  It must be twenty years or more, said Kesri.

  That is true. I am ‘Mrs Burnham’ now – and you, I see, are a havildar?

  Yes, Cathy-mem. And how is your father, the Jarnail-sahib?

  He is well. My mother too. They have returned to England and my daughter has gone with them.

  Only one daughter?

  Yes, said Mrs Burnham, I have only the one daughter. And you, Kesri Singh? How many children do you have?

  Four, said Kesri. Three boys and a girl. They are at home in my village, with my wife and family.

  And your sister, Kesri Singh? The one you used to talk about? What was her name?

  The question jolted Kesri: it was as if Deeti had reached out to him again, from the distant past. There was something so uncanny about it that he exclaimed in astonishment: Kamaal hai! Amazing that you remembered my sister! Her name is Deeti.

  Yes, of course, she said with a smile. And you, Kesri Singh – what brings you here, to China?

  The expedition, Cathy-mem. I decided to balamteer.

  She dropped her eyes now, and he understood that there was something else on her mind. When she looked up again her voice was quieter and more tentative.

  And what about everyone else in the Pacheesi? she said. The officers? How are they?

  Kesri knew from her tone that the question was deceptive in its vagueness; he understood also that her inquiry concerned one officer in particular – and who could that be but Mr Mee? After all, he, Kesri, was perhaps the only person who was aware of what had passed between herself and Mr Mee all those years before.

  At the thought of this an intuition of danger stirred within Kesri: no good could come to Captain Mee surely, from lapsing again into the madness, the junoon, that had possessed him at that time? Cathy-mem was no longer a girl; she was married now, and no doubt her husband was rich and powerful, fully capable of destroying an officer of the rank of Mr Mee.

  On a note of warning, Kesri said, in a low, flat voice: Mr Mee is here with us, Cathy-mem; he is the CO of my company.

  Oh!

  Kesri saw that the colour had suddenly drained from her face. He added quickly: Mee-sahib is inside this house, Cathy-mem – he has gone there for tiffin.

  Yahã hai? He is here?

  Mrs Burnham froze and Kesri had the impression that she was about to turn on her heel and walk away. But just then a voice called out: ‘Mrs Burnham, is that you?’

  It was Shireen. ‘How very nice to see you, Mrs Burnham!’ She came hurrying down to greet the visitor. ‘Do come in!’

  ‘Oh hello, Mrs Moddie.’

  As they were shaking hands Shireen noticed that Mrs Burnham’s fingers were trembling slightly; glancing at her face she saw that she had turned very pale.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mrs Burnham? Are you not well?’

  The parasol dropped suddenly from Mrs Burnham’s grasp. She swayed, clasping a hand to her chest. Fearing that she would fall, Shireen took hold of her elbow and helped her towards the veranda.

  ‘But Mrs Burnham! What in heavens is the matter?’

  ‘Just a spell of dizziness,’ said Mrs Burnham faintly, pressing a hand to her temple. ‘I’m sorry to be such a gudda. It’s nothing really.’

  ‘Oh but you must sit down!’

  Shireen helped her up to the veranda and showed her to a chair. ‘Would you like a drink of water, Mrs Burnham?’

  Mrs Burnham nodded and was about to say something when the voices of Dinyar and his friends came echoing down the vestibule. A moment later the front door flew open and Dinyar stepped out. Behind him came Captain Mee and a couple of other officers.

  Captain Mee raised a hand to the bill of his shako: ‘Goodbye, Mrs Moddie – thank you for the delicious karibat.’

  ‘Goodbye, Captain Mee.’

  Shireen noticed that the captain’s eyes had wandered to her visitor. She turned to Mrs Burnham, thinking that she would introduce her to Captain Mee – but only to find that Mrs Burnham was sitting with her face averted and her veil lowered: it was clear from her posture that she did not wish to be introduced.

  Shireen waved the men off and then went to sit beside Mrs Burnham. Before she could speak, Mrs Burnham whispered: ‘Forgive me, Mrs Moddie, if I seemed rude – but I’m feeling too poorly to meet anyone.’

  ‘I perfectly understand,’ said Shireen. ‘Would you like to lie down for a moment?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps.’

  Taking hold of her hand Shireen led her visitor indoors, to her own bedroom, where she helped her remove her headgear and lie down.

  Mrs Burnham’s veil came off to reveal a face that was beaded with moisture. The feverishness of her appearance alarmed Shireen. ‘Should I fetch a doctor, Mrs Burnham?’

  ‘Please, no!’ said Mrs Burnham, stretching herself out on the bed. ‘It is just a spell of the chukkers. It will pass in a minute.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mrs Burnham patted the bed. ‘Won’t you sit beside me, Mrs Moddie?’

  ‘You must call me Shireen. Please.’

  ‘Of course. And you must call me Cathy.’

  Mrs Burnham’s eyes wandered to the framed picture that stood beside the bed. ‘That is your late husband, is it not, Shireen?’

  ‘Yes.’ Shireen picked up the picture and handed it to her.

  Mrs Burnham studied the portrait for a few minutes, in silence. Presently she said, in a soft voice: ‘He was a handsome man.’

  Shireen smiled in acknowledgement but said nothing.

  ‘I have heard,’ Mrs Burnham continued, ‘many stories about your husband. Mr Burnham thinks the world of him – that is why he asked me to call on you today.’

  The words brought a quiver to Shireen’s lips; she turned her face away and buried her head in her shoulder.

  ‘You must have loved him very much,’ Mrs Burnham whispered.

  Unable to speak, Shireen smiled wanly.

  Mrs Burnham continued: ‘But you know, Shireen, even though you h
ave lost him, you must count yourself very lucky – it is not given to every woman to spend her life with the man she loves.’

  She seemed to choke as she was saying this. Shireen shot her a startled glance and saw that she too was wiping her eyes now.

  ‘Cathy? Whatever is the matter?’

  Mrs Burnham was struggling to compose herself now, trying to summon a smile – but instead she succeeded only in looking more and more stricken. Where her grief came from Shireen did not know and nor did it matter – even though they knew very little about one another, it was as if they understood each other perfectly.

  Mrs Burnham too seemed to be moved by the intimacy of the moment. She took hold of Shireen’s hand and whispered: ‘We shall be good friends I think, shan’t we, Shireen?’

  ‘Yes, Cathy – I think we shall.’

  ‘Well then, I hope you will come to the Anahita next week – Mr Burnham and I are holding a sunset levée, on the first day of the New Year. We would both so much like to have you with us.’

  ‘Oh that’s very kind of you, but …’

  Suddenly Shireen was bereft of words: how could she possibly explain that for her the Anahita was no ordinary ship? Every time Bahram set sail from Bombay she had been present at the dock, praying that the Anahita would keep him safe – in vain, as it turned out, since it was from that very ship that he had fallen to his death.

  Mrs Burnham gave her hand a squeeze: ‘Oh please, do say you will come.’

  ‘I would like to come, Cathy,’ said Shireen. ‘It’s just that it’s bound to be a little trying for me since I suppose I shall be reminded of my husband’s accident …’ She paused. ‘But it might be a little easier if I could bring some friends of my husband’s – Mr Karabedian and his godson.’

  Before she could finish, Mrs Burnham broke in: ‘Yes, of course. Do please bring your friends. It’ll be a pleasure to have them with us.’

  *

  At the end of the day, when Kesri and the officers were back at the camp on Saw Chow Island, a runner came to deliver an order for Kesri to report to Captain Mee’s tent.

  Although it was quite late, Captain Mee was still in his uniform. ‘Havildar, there’s a message from Commodore Bremer. He says we have to be prepared for a resumption of hostilities. A few days ago Captain Elliot sent the mandarins an ultimatum, to respond to our demands or face attack. The ultimatum has expired so we may have to move any day now.’