River of Smoke it-2

by Amitav Ghosh

  Halfway down the lane, Neel heard a shout: ‘Ah Neel! Ah Neel!’

  It was Ahtore, Compton’s oldest son: ‘Jou-sahn Ah Neel! Bah-bah say come chop-chop.’

  ‘Why?’

  Ahtore shrugged. ‘Come, Ah Neel. Come.’

  ‘All right.’

  On reaching the print-shop Neel was led straight through to the inner part of Compton’s house. Even more than before, the courtyard seemed like an oasis of serenity: since Neel’s last visit the cherry tree in the centre had burst into bloom and it was as if a fountain of white petals had erupted from a fissure in the paved floor.

  Compton was sitting near the tree, under the shade of an overhanging roof; in the chair beside him was the white-bearded scholar he had pointed out on the day of the Commissioner’s arrival.

  Jou-sahn, Ah Neel, said Compton.

  Jou-sahn, Compton.

  ‘Come meet my teacher, Chang Lou-si.’

  Both men rose and bowed and Neel reciprocated as best he could.

  Compton and Chang Lou-si had been sitting around a low, stone table, drinking tea. Compton now ushered Neel to an empty chair and they spent a few minutes inquiring after each other’s health. Then Compton said: ‘So-yih, Ah Neel, perhaps you know what happen at the meeting last night?’

  Neel nodded. ‘Yes, they offered to give up a thousand chests of opium.’

  ‘Jeng; that is right. Early this morning the Co-Hong go to Yum-chae to tell about offer.’

  ‘What happened? Was His Excellency satisfied?’

  ‘No. Yum-chae understand very well what it is – jik-haih foreigners are trying to bargain. They think he can be bought off, like other mandarin before. But Yum-chae cast their offer aside at once.’

  ‘So what will happen then?’ said Neel. ‘Are Howqua and Mowqua to face execution?’

  ‘No,’ said Compton. ‘His Excellency understand Co-Hong have gone as far as they can. He understand also that some foreigners do not object to surrender of opium. Only a few make trouble. Now time has come to move against those men – the worst criminals, ones who make most trouble.’

  ‘Who do you mean?’

  ‘Who you think, Ah Neel?’

  ‘Dent? Burnham?’

  Compton nodded. ‘Jardine gone, so now Dent is the worst. We follow his doings over many years; he smuggle, he bribe; he is the black hand behind everything.’

  ‘So what will be done to him?’

  Compton glanced at Chang Lou-si, and then turned back to Neel. ‘All this ji-haih for you, Ah Neel. You understand ne? Cannot speak to anyone.’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Dent must answer questions. He will be brought in.’

  ‘What about Burnham?’

  ‘No. Not him. Just one British enough for now la.’ He paused. ‘But one other man also will be arrested.’

  Neel took a sip of his tea: it was a strong pu-er and made his mouth pucker. ‘Who?’

  Compton exchanged a word with Chang Lou-si before turning back to Neel. ‘Listen, Ah Neel: again I say this just to you la? Many people here say that one from Hindusthan must be arrested also. Almost all opium come from there, ne? Without them opium cannot come. They too must be stopped. Best way is to hold up one Hindusthani so others can take warning. Houh-chih with Dent.’

  ‘And who are you thinking of?’

  ‘Can be only one man, ne? Leader of Canton Achhas.’

  Neel was surprised to find that his throat had gone dry; he had to take another sip of his tea before he could speak. ‘Seth Bahramji?’

  Compton nodded. ‘Deui-me-jyuh Neel, but he is responsible for do bad things; a lot of information has come out. And dou, he is allied with Dent.’

  Neel looked into his cup and tried to think of Seth Bahram being led off to prison with a cangue around his neck, like Punhyqua. He remembered how, at one time, he had been amused by the devotion of the Seth’s entourage. It was with a start of surprise that he realized that he too had now come to regard him with a loyalty that bordered on love. It was almost as if the tie of blood between Ah Fatt and his father had become his own, making it impossible for him to sit in judgement upon the Seth. He knew then that if he were to play a part in bringing harm upon Bahram, he would be haunted by it ever afterwards.

  ‘Look,’ said Neel, ‘it is not surprising that you should think of taking this step. But you should know that even if Seth Bahramji and every other Achha trader were to stop trading opium it would make no difference. The drug may come from India, but the trade is almost entirely in British hands. In the Bengal Presidency, the cultivation of opium is their monopoly: few Achhas play any part in it, apart from the peasants who are made to grow it – and they suffer just as much as the Chinese who buy the drug. In Bombay, the British were not able to set up a monopoly because they were not in control of the entire region. That is why local merchants like Seth Bahramji were able to enter the trade. Their earnings are the only part of this immense commerce that trickles back to Hindusthan – all the rest goes to England and Europe and America. If Bahramji and all the other Bombay Seths stopped trading opium tomorrow, all that would happen is that the drug trade would become another British monopoly. It was not the Achhas who started sending opium to China: it was the British. Even if every Achha washed his hands of opium, nothing would change in China; the British and Americans would make sure that opium continued to pour in.’

  Neel waited for Compton to translate this and then he laid out the argument that he had saved for the last: ‘And you know what will happen if you include Seth Bahramji’s name with Dent’s?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Chamber will save Dent by giving up Bahramji instead. Dent will slip out of your grasp.’

  ‘Haih me! Would they do that?’

  ‘I am sure of it. After all, they owe much more to the Co-Hong than to Bahramji. If they are willing to risk the lives of their Hongist friends, why would they not give up the Seth?’

  He left the words hanging in the air and sat back to sip his tea. In a while, Compton said: ‘Chang Lou-si asks if you and Mr Moddie are from same province? Dihng-hai same clan?’

  ‘No,’ said Neel. ‘His province and mine are far away – like Manchuria and Kwangtung. We are not even born into the same religion.’

  ‘Cheng-mahn, Neel, can I ask why you are so loyal to him? Gam, what is difference between him and Dent and Burnham?’

  ‘Seth Bahram is not like Dent and Burnham,’ said Neel. ‘In other circumstances he would have been a pioneer, a genius even. It is his misfortune that he comes from a land where it is impossible even for the very best men to be true to themselves.’

  ‘You mean Hindusthan, Ah Neel?’

  ‘Yes. Hindusthan.’

  A look of pity came into Chang Lou-si’s eyes when Compton translated this for him. He said something which seemed to be addressed mostly to himself.

  ‘Chang Lou-si says: it is so China does not become another Hindusthan that the Yum-chae must do what he has to do.’

  ‘That is right,’ said Neel with a nod. ‘That is why I am sitting here with you.’

  *

  The meeting at the Chamber had ended so late, amidst so much ill-feeling, that Bahram would have had no sleep that night if not for a generous dose of laudanum. Having once drifted off, he slept deeply and awoke just as the chapel clock was striking eleven.

  The windows of the bedroom were shuttered and except for the lamp on the altar it was completely dark. Still fuzzy from the laudanum, Bahram wondered whether he had slept right through the day and into the night. Then he saw glimmers of sunlight filtering in through the gaps in the window frames and suddenly the events of the night before came rushing back to him: the arguments and counter-arguments; the broken faces of Howqua and Mowqua, and Dent’s warning that giving up a single chest would quickly lead to the surrender of them all; and then he remembered the intervention that had clinched the matter: Mr Thom’s prediction that there would be riots if any harm came to Howqua, Mowqua or any other Co-Ho
ng merchant. That was when Wetmore had suggested that the Chamber offer up a thousand chests of opium as ransom for the Hongists’ lives.

  Like the other tai-pans Bahram had agreed to contribute his fair share of crates – but there was no surety, of course, that Commissioner Lin would accept the offer: not till ten in the morning would it be known whether he was going to carry out his threats.

  And now it was eleven, the hour well past: for all he knew Howqua and Mowqua were already dead.

  Reaching for the bell-rope, Bahram tugged hard and within minutes a khidmatgar appeared at the door.

  Where’s Vico? said Bahram.

  He went out, Sethji.

  And the munshi?

  He’s in the daftar, Sethji. Waiting for you.

  Bahram gestured to the man to step inside. Lay out my clothes, jaldi.

  Dressing hurriedly, Bahram crossed the corridor and stepped into the daftar.

  Munshiji, did you go to the Consoo House this morning?

  Ji, Sethji.

  What happened? Did Commissioner Lin announce his verdict?

  No, Sethji. I was there till half past ten. Commissioner Lin didn’t come to the Consoo House. There was no verdict. Nothing.

  Are you sure?

  Ji, Sethji, I am sure.

  Giddy with relief, Bahram reached for the door jamb to steady himself. If Commissioner Lin hadn’t come to the Consoo House, it could only mean that he had accepted the Chamber’s offer. A thousand chests was no small thing, after all: even a year earlier that quantity of opium would have fetched three hundred and twenty-five thousand taels – equivalent to about eleven and a half tons of silver bullion, in other words. If Commissioner Lin were only to keep a fraction of it for himself, it would still be enough to provide for generations of his descendants. There was a scarcely a man on earth who would not have been tempted.

  A great weight seemed to rise off Bahram’s shoulders. He looked around the daftar and was glad to see that everything was as it should be: breakfast was on the table and Mesto was waiting with a napkin over his arm. A sense of calm came over him as he seated himself at the table: for once, he felt no desire to know more about the news; all he wanted was to eat his breakfast in peace.

  Sethji, shall I read from the Register?

  No, munshiji, not today. It would be better if you went to find Vico.

  Ji, Sethji.

  The munshi’s voice receded as Bahram ran his eyes over the table. It was clear at a glance that Mesto had made an extra effort that morning: he had evidently done a round of the Maidan’s food vendors for Bahram could see char-siu-baau buns, light, fluffy and filled with roast pork, and a few chiu-chau dumplings as well, of the kind he liked best, stuffed with peanuts, garlic, chives, dried shrimp and mushrooms. Mesto had also prepared one of Bahram’s Parsi favourites, kolmi bharelo poro, an omelette with a filling of stewed tomatoes and succulent prawns.

  Bahram tasted it and gave Mesto a smile. Excellent! Almost as good as my mother’s!

  Mesto grinned with pleasure and pushed the dumplings towards him. Try these, Sethji; they’re really fresh.

  Bahram ate slowly, lingering over every dish. The better part of an hour passed but neither Vico nor the munshi had returned by the time he finished his meal.

  What’s taking them so long? Mesto, send a boy to look for them.

  Mesto had been gone only a few minutes when Vico and Neel burst in, flushed and out of breath.

  Patrao, a paltan of Manchu soldiers has gone to Mr Dent’s place! The Weiyuen is with them.

  The Weiyuen was the head of the local constabulary, a figure who rarely ventured into Fanqui-town.

  Impossible! said Bahram. Why would he go there?

  It was the munshi who answered: They’ve got a warrant for Mr Dent, Sethji. He’s been charged with smuggling and many other things.

  What other things?

  They say he’s been spying and trying to foment trouble in the country.

  Are they arresting him?

  They want to take him into the old city, for questioning.

  Bahram frowned as he looked at the munshi. How do you know all this?

  Mr Burnham’s gomusta told me, Sethji; Mr Burnham’s house is in the same hong, the Paoushun. The gomusta-baboo saw it all.

  Bahram pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Have they arrested Dent already? Or is he still there?

  He’s still there, patrao, said Vico. The other tai-pans are all heading to his place now.

  I must go too, said Bahram. Where’s my choga and cane?

  The Paoushun Hong was only four doors from the Fungtai and it took Bahram just a few minutes to walk over. Stepping through the entrance, he found his way blocked by a detachment of guardsmen, tall soldiers with plumed helmets. Fortunately, one of the Co-Hong’s linkisters, Young Tom, was with them; he recognized Bahram and persuaded the soldiers to let him pass.

  Dent’s lodgings were at the back of the factory compound, overlooking Thirteen Hong Street. To get there, Bahram had to pass through several courtyards: usually abuzz with people, these too were empty – all but the last which led to Dent’s lodgings. This one, in marked contrast to the others, was filled with people, almost all of them Chinese; most were squatting dejectedly on the paved floor of the courtyard, under the watchful eyes of a detachment of Manchu soldiers.

  As he was pushing his way through, Bahram felt a tug on his sleeve.

  ‘Mr Moddie, Mr Moddie – please help…’

  Bahram was astonished to recognize Howqua’s youngest son, Attock: usually suave and reserved he was now in a state of complete dishevelment, his face streaked with dirt.

  ‘What is happening, Attock?’ said Bahram. ‘Is your father here also? In Mr Dent’s house?’

  ‘Yes. Also Punhyqua. Yum-chae say he cuttee allo head if Mr Dent not go. Please Mr Moddie, please talkee Mr Dent.’

  ‘Of course. I will do all what I can.’

  Bahram was at the entrance to Dent’s lodgings now; the door was wide open and no one stopped him from stepping inside.

  Dent’s lodgings, like Bahram’s, consisted of a vertical set of rooms, distributed over three floors. As was the custom in Fanqui-town, the storage spaces were on the lowest level. The room that adjoined the entrance was in fact a godown, filled with objects that had accumulated there over a period of several decades. The contents consisted of the usual melange of things that passed through Fanqui-town – tall clocks from Europe, lacquerware, locally made renditions of European furniture and suchlike – except that in this instance they also included a number of other curiosities: stuffed animals, pottery and so on.

  Now the dusty, dimly lit godown was crowded with people as well as objects. Seated in the centre, on a dainty Chippendale love-seat, was a glowering, stiff-backed mandarin, with a scroll in one hand and a fan in the other. On one side of him loomed the stuffed head of an enormous rhinoceros; on the other side were Howqua and Punhyqua. The two Hongists were crouched on the floor and both had chains around their necks. Their tunics were so begrimed that they looked as if they had been dragged through miles of dust. Their caps were conspicuously devoid of their buttons of rank.

  Bahram could remember a time when mandarins would appear before Howqua and Punhyqua as supplicants: the sight of these two immensely wealthy men crouching beside the Weiyuen, like beggars, was so incomprehensible that he felt compelled to look more closely, to see if they were really who they seemed to be.

  Only after several minutes had passed did Bahram realize that Dent, Burnham, Wetmore and several other foreign merchants were on the other side of the room, standing clustered around Mr Fearon. He made his way over and was just in time to hear Burnham say: ‘Jurisdiction – that is the principle we must cling to, at all costs. You must explain to the Weiyuen that he does not have jurisdiction over Mr Dent. Or any other British merchant for that matter.’

  ‘I have tried, sir, as you know,’ said Mr Fearon patiently. ‘And the Weiyuen’s response was that he is acting on the
authority of the High Commissioner, who has been invested with special powers by the Emperor himself.’

  ‘Well, you must explain to him then,’ said Burnham, ‘that nobody, not even the Grand Manchu himself, can claim jurisdiction over a subject of the Queen of England.’

  ‘I doubt that he will accept that, sir.’

  ‘But nonetheless, you must make this clear to him, Mr Fearon.’

  ‘Very well.’

  As Mr Fearon stepped away, Dent ran a hand over his face. Bahram saw now that he looked pale and ill; his fingernails were bitten to shreds.

  ‘My dear Dent!’ said Bahram, extending a hand. ‘This is terrible. What do they want of you?’

  Dent was evidently too shaken to speak, for it was Burnham who answered. ‘They say they want to escort him to the old city, to ask him a few questions. But it is likely that their real intentions are quite different.’

  ‘The rumour’, added Wetmore, ‘is that the Commissioner has asked that a cook, specializing in European food, be provided by the Co-Hong.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ said Bahram. ‘Are they planning to keep Dent? Put him in jail?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Burnham with a grim smile. ‘Or it could be something worse still – maybe they’re planning to throw him a Last Supper.’

  ‘Oh please, Benjamin,’ said Dent, wringing his hands. ‘Must you speak of that?’

  ‘Sir!’

  Mr Fearon was back now. ‘The Weiyuen says it is clearly stated in the Emperor’s decrees that all foreign residents in China must abide by Chinese law.’

  ‘But that has not been the custom,’ said Wetmore. ‘In Canton, it has always been understood that foreigners would conduct their affairs according to their own laws. Please explain that to the Weiyuen, Mr Fearon.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  Mr Fearon was hardly gone before he was back. ‘The Weiyuen asks that you approach him. He wishes to address you directly.’

  ‘Approach him?’ cried Slade indignantly. ‘So he may rub in our faces the degradation he has inflicted on Howqua and Punhyqua? Why, it is the most abominable impudence!’

  ‘He insists, sir.’

  ‘We had better go,’ said Dent, ‘there’s no need to provoke him.’