A Far Horizon (15 page)

‘They are unusable.’ Drake was unable to suppress his surprise after twenty-six gun carriages were found to be in the same state of decay. He was panting hard and had taken off his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat. Other men in the group soon followed the Governor’s example.

Next, they descended by the South River Gate to the Governor’s Wharf to face a further mountain of rusting metal. Upon
examination
this turned out to be fifty cannon, along with a great many cannonballs. These had been unloaded upon their delivery three years previously, at the place where they still lay. The consignment had been ordered when the Marathas still threatened, but its eventual arrival in a decade of peace had appeared exaggerated. This immense delivery, which had filled the holds of an armada of Indiamen, was now completely useless. The Fort William party were silent, battling as much with the effects of the heat as with despondency. Almost to a man they had now removed their neckbands, exposing their chests to the sun.

O’Hara marched on around Fort William, pointing out an endless list of dilapidation. By the time the men arrived at the East Gate, facing The Avenue, shadows were deepening. In the sudden manner of Indian evenings, light was fast disappearing. This abrupt fading of luminosity paralleled the feelings of the Fort William group as they returned to the Council Chamber. So deep was the gloom and so great their exhaustion that the Governor ordered some claret to be immediately brought to the table.

‘There is nothing more we can do for tonight,’ said Drake. ‘Perhaps tomorrow some line of defence will reveal itself to us.’

After everyone had departed and the candles were lighted, the Governor and the Chief Magistrate sat on at the table with their claret.

‘Perhaps it would be best if you asked the Chaplain to attend tomorrow’s meeting,’ Drake suggested to Holwell.

Bellamy had not attended the Council of War, for Drake had argued with Holwell that the opinions of the representative of God were of little relevance to the secular matter of defence. It appeared to him now that God might indeed have a part to play in the future of Fort William.

‘I think you are losing your hold on the facts.’ The Chief Magistrate did not reply in the superior manner the Governor had expected.

‘And what are they?’ Drake asked as he poured himself more claret.

‘That there will be no battle, or just the show of one at the most if we need to play for time. We have assurance from Rai Durlabh, and he appears to me a man of his word. He stands to gain much from succeeding in his mission. It is a gamble, but one we should bet on, I think,’ Holwell replied. Letters to this effect had already passed between Rai Durlabh and the Governor.

‘But what if things go wrong?’ Drake worried. ‘What if he cannot get rid of the nawab at this particular time?’

‘It is unlikely. Rai Durlabh will see his chance and take it. Should
there be some miscalculation, we will evacuate the fort. Do not forget, we have the river. The nawab comes overland; he will have no access to the river from his landlocked position. In the worst instance we will wait on the boats until it is safe to return. However, if we vacate the fort, we might lose it forever. There is much to be gained if things go as planned. Either way we shall be the richer,’ the Chief Magistrate reasoned.

‘The treasure is still with Omichand,’ Drake reminded him.

‘We must bring it into the fort,’ Holwell replied, his face impassive before the Governor’s agitation. ‘If things go wrong, we shall evacuate and take the treasure with us.’

*

The next morning they assembled once more. Although it was early, the hot winds blew, spitting dust into the room. Calcutta now lived on a razor’s edge, squinting each day at the sky, willing the rains to come. Nerves were taut as fiddle strings. Because the sun was not yet high, the tatties in the Council Chamber were still rolled up. Shafts of burning light skidded across the mahogany table to hit the portraits of past Governors. The legs of chairs were still immersed in their bowls of water.

The faces of the Council of War showed signs of a sleepless night. Only the Reverend Bellamy appeared his usual jovial self, the end of his nose like a crimson bud about to burst into flower. He had been given a synopsis of the previous day’s meeting and an account of the fort’s defences. Since his reliance upon God was of a less doubting nature than that of his colleagues, he saw no need to view the approaching thirty thousand with the same degree of dread. He beamed good will about the table. Unlike most of the men, knowing little, he had slept well the night before.

It was this sharpness of mind in the midst of the general exhaustion that caused the Chaplain to ask a pertinent question once the meeting had been called to order. Military matters were not his concern, but a thought had occurred and he spoke his mind.

‘I have heard the situation with regard to our gun and cannon
power is not of the best. But I have not heard from anyone what the situation is with regard to our ammunition. Do we have powder and grapeshot enough?’ Gervase Bellamy smiled.

There was some movement around the table, like the weak eddying of a current in a shallow stream. No one had thought of ammunition. The Governor called immediately for a glass of arrack.

‘Commander Minchin?’ Drake managed an expectant smile.

‘It would be best to ask Lieutenant Witherington. He is in charge of the powder store.’ Minchin refused to be trapped by further responsibility.

Witherington was summoned and soon appeared, flushed with pleasure at being called before the Council of War. ‘I think, sir, I am not wrong in saying that never in the history of Calcutta have we had such ample stocks of powder,’ he announced to Drake. Relief echoed around the table.

‘What is the position with regard to grapeshot?’ asked the Reverend Bellamy, his mind still full of vigour.

‘I will have to check, sir,’ Witherington said, and hurried from the room.

Soon he returned, no longer smiling. ‘With regard to the grapeshot, there is only a very small quantity. And that too is unusable, for worms have attacked it. Crumbles to dust when handled,’ he reported.

‘Why is there not more grapeshot?’ the Chief Magistrate demanded with a frown.

‘Well, sir, we have little actual need of it. We have never fought a battle,’ Witherington reminded the Council of War.

‘At least there is powder enough,’ Minchin said in a businesslike way.

‘Well, sir, there appears now to be a slight problem there also,’ Witherington replied, looking nervously at the commander.

‘And what is that, Witherington?’ Minchin demanded, assuming a defensive stance.

‘During the last monsoon the powder was not stored in a dry place.’ Witherington gave an embarrassed cough.

‘You are trying to tell us we have no powder?’ Drake shouted.

‘Powder we have, sir, but it is unusable. It is all damp. We have a very small dry stock, which we keep for gun salutes. There has never been a need for so much powder, that is the trouble, sir.’ Witherington explained.

When Witherington finally departed, Drake turned savagely upon Minchin. ‘You are not fit for your post,’ he yelled. Others joined in the condemnation of the commander.

‘Powder can be dried,’ Minchin protested, as if it was a small matter. ‘And if not in Fort William then in the large magazine in town there will surely be dry powder.’

The Chief Magistrate was silent during this angry exchange, but when the clamour died down he made his announcement. ‘Since our garrison is so small and we face so large an army, we must form a militia to swell our numbers.’ The originality of this suggestion was enough to bring silence to the table.

‘We have amongst us a good number of responsible civilians to call upon, and we can request volunteers from the foreign vessels on the Hoogly. There are also large numbers of Dutch and black Portuguese mercenaries who are always ready to fight for a share of the spoils,’ Holwell continued.

The Governor turned to Holwell. ‘Chief Magistrate, you shall be captain in charge of the militia.’ Out of the corner of his eye Drake saw Minchin glower, cut to the quick that a civilian should be promoted over a garrison commander.

Holwell at first seemed taken aback and then began to look pleased. The Chaplain had brought with him, as Holwell had hoped, a crate of Madeira from his cellar to fortify the Council. Glasses were filled and soon the men of Fort William began to feel more assertive.

‘It appears to me now not so much a question of defending Fort William as of defending Calcutta itself,’ Reverend Bellamy stated in a thoughtful voice, savouring his Madeira. The wine was of a good
vintage and he was already regretting having to waste it on men like Minchin, or juniors like Eyre and Pearkes.

‘It would only be possible to defend White Town,’ Manningham reasoned. Everyone nodded their understanding.

‘We have no choice in the matter,’ the Chief Magistrate agreed.

‘But we are still without any plan to defend the city,’ O’Hara interrupted impatiently.

‘And what do you suggest would be our best plan of defence?’ The Chief Magistrate spoke coldly; he was tired of O’Hara’s superiority.

O’Hara leaned forward in his chair and made a terrifying announcement. ‘There is
no
way to defend White Town.’

Once he saw this statement had gained him attention, the Chief Engineer continued. ‘There is only one chance for White Town should it come to a battle. We must demolish all the large houses about the fort, then fight from the fort itself,’ he declared.

O’Hara’s comment was met with a thunderous roar of dissent. Many men at the table had their houses in exactly the places the Chief Engineer wished destroyed. O’Hara thumped on the table for quiet and then turned to the windows, pointing to the grand mansions outside.

‘Look there, gentlemen. Firstly, we cannot defend the long perimeter of the fort. And secondly, over the years the houses about the fort have come to stand higher than its ramparts. The enemy could fire down upon our garrison from those very houses and bring their cannon right up beneath our walls. If we destroy those residences we can then fire from a protected position, for they will have to advance towards us over open ground.’

‘This is preposterous. What do you know of military strategy?’ Minchin announced when O’Hara had finished.

‘You really expect us to burn down our own homes?’ Frankland laughed.

‘Would you like us also to burn down the church?’ the Chaplain enquired.

‘It might come to that,’ O’Hara grimaced.

‘I shall pray for you,’ Reverend Bellamy answered, peering sternly at him.

‘The important thing is that there should be some plan for defence, in case things turn out for the worst,’ O’Hara insisted. ‘That is why we are here.’

‘If things turn out badly, which is not expected, do not forget we have the river and can evacuate to our boats.’ The Chief Magistrate now offered his contingency plan. A wave of relief swept immediately about the table.

‘But we
must
have a plan of defence,’ O’Hara insisted.

At last it was decided to draw a defence line through the houses of White Town, with batteries at the three main entrances. Smaller streets were to be palisaded, and a trench dug across The Park. Perrin’s Redoubt at the far side of the fort was to be strengthened. The trench across The Park created the most debate, for to construct this fortification meant the destruction of all the trees.

As the Governor stood up to draw the meeting to a close, a servant came in with a man from the local bazaar. He approached the Governor fearfully. Drake listened quietly to what the man said and the colour drained from his face. His voice was grim as he turned to the waiting Council of War.

‘Siraj Uddaulah has issued an order forbidding all native
merchants
and shopkeepers to supply the English with provisions.’ Governor Drake sat down once more in his chair.

T
he moon hung low over Black Town, bloated with a yellow light. Outside her hut, Jaya Kapur stopped beside the water jar, staring up into the sky. As she lifted the lid of the container, the moon slipped quickly inside. Its light illuminated her hand and swam upon the water. She dipped in her scoop and the moon fragmented, then quickly reformed in the water. Jaya turned to look again at the sky. If the moon was aloof, forever beyond the touch of men, what was this silvery image in her hands that refused to disappear? She slammed the lid back over the jar and hurried into her hut.

On the pallet Sati moved weakly. Jaya helped her to sit and held the cup of moon-filled water to her granddaughter’s lips. Then she peeled away the strips of cotton covering Sati’s back and spread a fresh poultice of herbs over the raw marks from the exorcism, strange fears alight inside her. She was sure she had made a terrible mistake; the conviction grew stronger each hour.

A rat ran across the floor; the rustle of insects filled the thatch. Outside, bullfrogs and crickets hacked at the silence. Jaya stared at the patched-up hole in the wall that until recently had hidden her jewels. The loss of her gems sliced through her again, a wound that would not heal. A thread of hope still tied her to the Notary, Mr
Dumbleton. She remembered again her interview with him and his face, whiskery as a cat’s. In India cats were evil creatures, so she was unsure if her association of this animal with Mr Dumbleton made him entirely trustworthy; he was, after all, a Hatman.

She stroked her granddaughter’s hair, certain now of her mistake. The knowledge lay like a stone within her, its weight pulling everything tight. Jaya looked apprehensively about the hut, but nothing seemed out of order. Yet she knew she could no longer carry her anxiety alone; she must discuss the matter with Govindram. He would know what to do.

She heaved herself up and lit a fresh stick of incense before a brass image of the Goddess. On the wall above hung a picture of the
Devi
seated upon her tiger. Her many arms held auspicious objects. She was adorned with the crescent moon and her body blazed with the splendour of a thousand suns. For a moment, straightening up from prayer, Jaya met the stern gaze of the deity. Then, as Sati appeared to be asleep, she pushed open the rush door of her home and went off to find Govindram.

As soon as her grandmother had left the hut, Sati raised her head. She heard the scuttle of rats and the scratch of insects in the thatch. Outside the window, the distended body of the moon hung so low above the world it had caught in the limbs of a tree. Its white light drew together heaven and earth, knotting them in the branches. The tree had become a magic thing. It was all the work of Durga, she had pulled the moon down from the sky. Durga sat stretched out upon a branch, head sunk upon her chest as if sharing Sati’s suffering. Fireflies were clustered in her hair, setting the moontree ablaze. Sati kept her eyes upon Durga’s luminous presence and slowly the pain seemed to lessen. A spectral light pulsated from the tree, empowering whatever it touched. It was said that the moon was the cup from which the gods drank the elixir of immortality. Sati stretched out her arm and let the pewter light spill liquidly over her hand.

*

Jaya reached Govindram’s gate and the
chowkidar
let her in. She
found Govindram finishing his dinner. Beside him Mohini glared up at her in annoyance. Jaya took no notice, squatting down before Govindram.

‘I have made a terrible mistake,’ she announced, coming
immediately
to the point. Govindram finished his food, rinsed his fingers in a bowl of water a servant offered and looked in query at Jaya.

‘For many years you have been making too many mistakes,’ Mohini grumbled.

‘Again there is trouble with Hatman Holwell? Your diamonds are returned?’ Govindram asked.

‘The trouble is greater than these small things,’ Jaya replied.

‘If those troubles are now small, then indeed the present trouble must be great.’ Govindram exchanged a glance of amusement with his wife.

‘My trouble is not of this world,’ Jaya answered.

‘Ahh!’ Govindram sat back and prepared to hear his cousin’s latest woe. Mohini gave an impatient grunt. She chose a mango from a dish of fruit the servant offered and began to cut it herself for her husband.

‘All this time I have been thinking a
ferenghi
devil has entered my Sati. Now I am no longer sure.’ A tumbler of sherbet and some sweetmeats had been placed before Jaya. She did not reach for them with her usual alacrity.

‘You are without appetite?’ Mohini asked with interest.

‘If this trouble concerns Sati then tell it to us quickly.’ Govindram frowned. He knew all about Sati’s possession. Once, he had seen the strange phenomenon himself as the deep, rough voice emerged from the girl. He and Mohini had been greatly disturbed. Such possession was as intractable as disease. Although the treatment for the affliction was harsh, he had agreed to it and paid the money, wishing to see the girl freed.

‘Why were you sure before that it was a
ferenghi,
a foreigner?’ Mohini’s interest was so great she forgot to edge her query with the usual sarcasm.

‘Because that evening at Rita’s, in front of those White Town
ferenghi,
the spirit was the same as the Hatmen. Same words, same voice, same way of thinking. Aiee, such things it said,’ Jaya remembered.

‘The spirits are too clever. They can appear as they want. They play with us for their own amusement.’ Mohini cut the fragrant flesh of the mango free of its skin and placed it before her husband.

‘But now I know it is
not
a
ferenghi
,’
Jaya whispered. Mohini looked at her sharply.

‘But only just now you were saying it
was
a
ferenghi
,’
Mohini began to argue, but Govindram held up his hand.

‘What is it then, if not a
ferenghi
?’
he asked, leaning forward.

Jaya’s pouched cheeks trembled, her chins rippled, she clasped her arms about herself. Mohini and Govindram waited. Jaya took a deep breath and began to tell her cousin all that had occurred in the temple.

‘So many times she is calling the spirit, Durga. Now I know this Durga is not just any ordinary, common Durga. It is the Goddess.’ Jaya’s voice sank to a whisper. Then, with an effort, she continued her story.

‘That day at the temple, the beating was so great the spirit was forced to come out of Sati. I saw it jump from her body into the room. It was terrible to behold, but I knew immediately it was the
Devi
.
She was black as night and her tongue was so long it covered her chin. As Kali the Goddess has entered into my Sati. I tried then to stop that priest. I shouted that the Goddess had come. He did not understand. He is a fool. The Goddess is standing before him, and he can see nothing.’

‘How can you be sure it was the Goddess?’ Mohini whispered, her voice squashed beneath the marvel. Govindram sat silent, his brow creased in concentration.

‘It was confirmed for me,’ Jaya replied with sudden briskness. In spite of her emotional state, she had not failed to notice Mohini’s unaccustomed respect.

‘How was that?’ Mohini leaned forward.

‘As we entered the temple, a tiger roared. The
Devi
rides always upon her tiger. And at the very moment I looked upon the Goddess, it roared again. What other explanation can there be?’ Jaya observed Mohini’s awed reaction with satisfaction.

‘If what you are saying is true, then this is no demon to be beaten from Sati.’ Govindram frowned in confusion.

‘I am also thinking the same thing,’ nodded Jaya. ‘The Goddess has come for some special reason.’

‘If really the Goddess lives in Sati then she is above us all,’ Mohini fell silent at the thought.

‘The
Devi
has come to protect us from the Hatmen and from that Chief Magistrate Holwell who has taken my jewels.’ This new revelation hit Jaya like a burst of sunlight. Suddenly, the loss of her jewels seemed a small price to pay for the presence beside her of the Goddess.

‘It is not so much the Hatmen from whom we need protection. Siraj Uddaulah already marches towards Calcutta. All local
merchants
have been forbidden to supply the English with provisions. There is much fright in both Black Town and White Town. There could be death for those who help the English. Many people are preparing to leave, fearing for the future.’ Govindram told the women the news.

Mohini gasped excitedly. ‘Then this is why the
Devi
has come. She will fight for us like she fought the
asuras.
Remember how she manifested Kali so that she could devour the demons, laughing as she flung their elephants into her mouth, crunching up their chariots and horses, striking everywhere with her sword.’

‘The Goddess easily rid the world of the evil
asuras
,’ Jaya nodded. Everything had begun to fall into place. The one thing she could not get used to was the sudden lull in the animosity between herself and Mohini. It did not feel right at all.

‘I must go back to Sati,’ Jaya announced, heaving herself to her feet.

At the door Mohini stepped forward and pulled her unexpectedly into a close embrace. Jaya was taken by surprise; usually Mohini busied herself in some task that prevented a proper goodbye. She wondered how long Mohini’s good humour would last.

*

Jaya walked the short distance to her own hut in a daze. The presence of the Goddess in her household was something she could not yet grasp. She turned into the densely packed alleys surrounding her home, which were filled with small shops. Her way was illuminated by the flares upon the stalls. Soon she came upon the itinerant vegetable woman who visited her hut each day; she was still hawking her wares.

‘Brinjal,
gobi,
bhindi.’
The woman sang out the names of her vegetables in a cracked contralto, stationing herself, basket on head, at a steady trot beside Jaya.

‘I bought all I needed from you this morning. Who is fool enough to buy at this late hour? Look at the state of your vegetables, all day they have been in the sun.’ Jaya pointed to the limp cabbage leaves and shrunken roots in the basket. ‘Give it away to the beggars.’

‘Have you heard? We are not allowed to sell to the English,’ the woman whined.

The man at the fruit stall raised his voice. ‘There will soon be no beggars left. They will be the first to run into the jungle when Siraj Uddaulah comes. They have nothing to lose and nothing to take with them.’

The road was suddenly filled by bleating goats. The goatherd’s small son tried to round them up. The goats took no notice and pushed about Jaya. A kid stopped to urinate at her feet and then hurried after its mother. Two of the animals crashed into a stall selling terracotta oil lamps. The stallholder cursed loudly and shook his fist at the boy as a lamp fell to the ground. At last the goats were chased away and the lane returned to normal.

‘Better to stay in Calcutta than to run. We will make money
providing for Siraj Uddaulah’s army,’ said the oil-lamp man, as he picked up broken pieces of terracotta.

In the dark alley the flares licked at the night. The moon illuminated the ragged fronds of palms. From the jungle came the rustling of bats and the calls of nocturnal creatures. Huge moths fluttered about. Jaya looked around apprehensively. She had walked at night many times down this alley and never thought the thoughts that came to her now. The Goddess was making her see everything differently. Mundane things seemed suddenly mysterious; the world was turned upside down. She stared at the sky, one foot still planted in the puddle of goat’s urine. The moon had sunk so low it was cradled by trees and glowed within branches. Heaven had fallen to earth. The world seemed suddenly a place of transformation.

‘Don’t be a donkey. Siraj Uddaulah’s army will burn our stalls,’ shouted the man who sold spices, seated cross-legged before his heaps of dried chillies. ‘I shall leave as soon as I hear he is near.’

‘He will be a fool if he chases us into the jungle. He has an army of thirty thousand to feed. What does your brother in the big house say?’ The fruit man turned to Jaya.

‘Better to run. My cousin brother says the nawab has professional looters to strip your shops of food to feed his army.’ Jaya shook her foot free of the putrid puddle. As the cousin of Govindram, her opinion carried weight.

‘What you say is true,’ said the man with the oil lamps. ‘There is enough in life waiting to kill me, without Siraj Uddaulah. I will tell my wife to pack the cart tonight. Let it stand ready, then we can run at a moment’s notice.’

‘The Hatmen and their fort are here to protect the city,’ said a man who was buying some mangoes from the fruit stall.

‘Hatmen only protect themselves,’ answered the spice man. ‘They will lock themselves into their fort and leave us to our fate.’

‘If Black Town people flee, so will the White Town servants. Soon the Hatmen will see how they depend upon us.’ The oil-lamp man was pleased with this line of reasoning.

‘I have also good
moong
dhal
.’
The vegetable woman began pestering Jaya again, anxious for a last sale. Lifting the basket from her head, she squatted down to search amongst the shrivelled vegetables. ‘Make some
dhal
for your granddaughter. It will give her strength to throw out the demon inside her. How did it go at the temple today?’ The matter of Sati’s possession had been followed with interest in the quarter around Jaya’s home.

‘It is none of your business. You are obstructing my way. I do not want your
dhal
.
The last lot you sold me was crawling with maggots, and you charged me for their weight.’ Jaya tried to step around the basket.

‘Next time I’ll give you a discount. Here, see, this
dhal
is good.’ The woman ran the lentils through her fingers, holding her hand to the flare at the fruit stall.

The fruit man leaned forward over a pile of watermelons. ‘Buy
musumbi
for your granddaughter. Sweet limes will do her more good than
dhal.
Heal her wounds quickly. Their acid will burn out the spirit inside her. Do not buy from these itinerant people. Buy from us stallholders and you buy first class.’