A Far Horizon (18 page)

‘Make way. The uncle comes.’ A path was made through the crowd for Govindram and Mohini to reach Jaya’s hut. As they passed, the crowd closed behind them, pushing them on, as if down a birthing canal. Eventually they were delivered before the God Woman. Jaya crouched beside the inert Sati, a look of bewilderment on her face. At once Mohini prostrated herself at Sati’s feet. Then she turned to embrace the bewildered Jaya, who sat in a state between ecstasy and fear, riddled with nervous exhaustion. People stared in awe. Govindram looked about with a frown of concern, then turned his attention to Sati.

Her eyes were wide and staring. She had not spoken for some time and the hut was packed and waiting. Before her the crowd had grown quiet, their faces transfixed. People appeared oblivious of their surroundings. They drifted in bliss, absorbing the radiance of the Goddess.

Suddenly Sati stirred. Consciousness flooded back into her eyes, she looked about in amazement. Slowly, realising the Goddess had withdrawn, the crowd descended once more to an earthly plane, able to move at last. As they vacated the hut, those waiting outside at once pushed in to touch the feet of the
Devi.
Soon a long line had formed. Entering the hut was easy but no way could be found for so great a crowd to exit again through the same rush door.

The fruit stall man, who was still in the hut, seeing the immensity
of the situation and the crowd stretching back to the end of Black Town, had a sudden idea. He gathered some friends and sharp implements and turned Jaya’s small window into an extra door. Jaya gave a weak cry and started up as they began to hack at her wall. The albino held her back.

‘It is for the Goddess,’ he said. Jaya sat down at Sati’s feet and began to sob.

Govindram looked about him in wonder. The world appeared to be collapsing, even as it was reborn. Already it was disconcerting to see the implosion of White Town after the withdrawal of Black Town support. At a stroke White Town had crumbled. Men and women who had called themselves superior now appeared as mortal as Black Town sweepers. The Hatmen no longer wore their hats. Kitchen soot smudged the weary faces of the marble-skinned women. The Chaplain and the Notary amongst many others had been seen emptying buckets of their own nightsoil. Into this strange and changing order of things the Goddess had appeared. Her appearance at this moment in time must have particular meaning, thought Govindram.

‘It is for the Goddess,’ Govindram repeated, looking at the sunlight streaming into the hut through the broken wall. He squatted down beside Jaya. Sati lay stretched out in exhaustion, tortoiseshell hair spread wildly about her.

Govindram saw now that this destiny had been waiting for Sati. She had always been a child apart, fragmented by cultures, born on the edge of the universe, on the meeting of two lines. Now the Goddess had come to reinvent her. He bent at last to touch her feet.

T
he Chief Magistrate sat upon his veranda with Drake and remembered the Governor’s last visit: the easy consumption of claret, the warm glow of candles, the deferential tread of servants. He recalled standing before the veranda, glass in hand, forcing the Governor to cross the room. Such finely tuned insolence was impossible now. The Chief Magistrate must open his own front door, go in search of clean glasses and a jug into which to decant some wine, like a common servant. All that tied them to that earlier evening was the unaltered boom of the bullfrogs and an orchestra of crickets. Now desolation and dust carpeted the veranda and collected in a pattern of footsteps within the Chief Magistrate’s home. The scuttle of cockroaches was suddenly apparent. Geckos clucked at night with the disapproval of a schoolmistress. Cobwebs hung from the balcony. But most of all it was the silence, the lack of hands, the growing odours that circumscribed the Chief Magistrate’s fear. The silence of the empty house now merged with the silence of the river. There was nothing untenanted about this silence; it was of the watching kind.

The Chief Magistrate’s house released a sour reek that had not gone unnoticed by the Governor. ‘Don’t know a home that has not the same odour the moment you enter the door. Those in the service
of the Governor understand their responsibilities better than most. A couple of our people have remained. We have not to concern ourselves with gross matters. Emily is preparing our food with her own hands, but help is there to light the lamps and stove and to see to the disposal of nightsoil.’

‘You are lucky,’ the Chief Magistrate agreed in a terse voice, viewing with his usual distaste the Governor’s sweating face.

Drake took a substantial gulp of claret and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Siraj Uddaulah draws nearer,’ he announced.

‘His army is already at Krishnagar,’ the Chief Magistrate admitted. Shadows had at last begun to collect in the garden, softening the sun’s harsh glare. An unexpected breeze lifted off the river, stirring the dust and ripening odours in the Chief Magistrate’s house.

‘Omichand grows nervous at the nawab’s proximity,’ Holwell told Drake. He had been summoned that morning to yet another interview with the fat merchant.

‘As well he might,’ Drake managed a chuckle.

‘He requests that we arrest him,’ Holwell announced.

‘Arrest the rascal?’ The Governor was astonished.

‘I found the fat merchant much afraid. He desires that we arrest him and place him under our protection in the fort, along with Kishindas and the treasure. The merchant will then appear innocent of conspiracy with us in the nawab’s eyes. The treasure will also be out of Siraj Uddaulah’s reach,’ Holwell explained.

‘And we are to collude in this pack of lies for the sake of Omichand’s life?’ The Governor was indignant.

‘It is not so bad an idea. The treasure will be in our safe keeping at last. If things turn out for the worst and we must flee, we shall take it with us. If Siraj Uddaulah is defeated, then the original purpose is served,’ Holwell reasoned. The idea of taking charge of the treasure now propelled the Chief Magistrate.

‘We will have full command of the situation once we have the treasure in our keeping. It will give us strong bargaining power with
Siraj Uddaulah, should it be needed.’ Holwell looked across his garden to the river, but it washed past with its usual indifference.

‘Omichand wishes for a showy arrest. He plans it like a play. Apart from ourselves and the fat merchant, no one, not even his many wives, is to know the arrest is but a charade,’ Holwell continued.

‘You think such a move is wise?’ Drake queried, suddenly alarmed. Since the news of Siraj Uddaulah’s approach, the Governor had found sleep impossible. Constant visions of battle and the beat of Siraj Uddaulah’s tuneless kettledrums threaded through his dreams. His appetite had diminished and his digestion needed frequent doses of Seltzer to coax it through the day.

The sky over the Hoogly was now brushed by fiery light as the sun sank rapidly towards the water. The croak of bullfrogs and the rasp of crickets grew even more intense. A gecko clucked nearby. These sounds seemed somehow to entwine with unpolished mahogany tables, with cockroaches feeding on the remains of fruit, with the dust-laden veranda, the unlit stove and the general scrounging about for food.

‘There is a strange feel to life without the native people around.’ Drake shifted in his chair, trying to hold his anxiety in place.

‘As if we are living in a ghost town. A door opens and you hear it creak, whereas before, in the bustle of life, such a sound might go unnoticed,’ the Chief Magistrate agreed.

‘Siraj Uddaulah expects the fort to surrender.’ The Govenor’s tone was half statement, half pleading enquiry. He reached for his wine again.

‘That will not happen,’ the Chief Magistrate answered. He knew the fears Drake’s mind was prey to.

‘We would all sleep better in our beds if Rai Durlabh would put a speedy end to the nawab.’ The Governor was petulant.

‘The essence of such matters is in their timing. We must trust in the commander.’ As he spoke, the Chief Magistrate saw himself, sword at waist, gun in hand, welcoming a triumphant Rai Durlabh into Fort William.

‘What if Rai Durlabh is killed?’ The Governor could not stop the thought spilling from him.

‘He will not allow such a destiny to overtake him,’ Holwell answered briskly.

‘There is a strange resonance in the air just here.’ Drake leaned forward with a frown.

The Chief Magistrate nodded towards the Hoogly at the bottom of the garden. ‘Probably a body is trapped in the reeds.’

It was not an unusual occurrence. Many Black Town families had either no money for cremation or less than was needed for a thorough conflagration. From their point of disposal at Chandpal Ghat, these unburned or half-burned bodies floated down river past Fort William. Occasionally, one of them drifted too near the shore and became trapped in reeds. The Chief Magistrate kept a special man whose job it was to free these rotting stalks of garbage from the watery bank of his garden. Up until this moment he had been unaware as to when these unfortunate cadavers arrived or departed. Now the man had gone, vanished into the jungle with the rest of Black Town, leaving Holwell to face the problem alone.

For some moments the Chief Magistrate sat immobile. He imagined himself in bed that night, the dark house silent about him yet alive with the stirring of nocturnal creatures. He saw the moon shining down upon the trapped corpse, the river lapping about it. Its stench would float up through his bedroom window and enter his dreams. He looked from the veranda to the yellow swell of the Hoogly, rolling past unconcernedly. It was another ploy on the part of the river to wither away his soul. He knew its tricks, its waiting silence.

The Chief Magistrate stood up abruptly. ‘The sooner it is freed the better. You must help me, Drake.’

Drake rose from his chair but appeared to hesitate before the invitation. Holwell strode forward towards some outhouses,
disappeared
within, and then emerged with a wooden pole. Drake followed him down to the water’s edge.

The overgrown grass and shrubs made Holwell nervous of snakes. A short distance away was a landing stage for visitors arriving by river. In the days when Rosemary had resided with him there had been boating parties and frequent shoots for waterfowl. Now the jetty lay in disrepair. The Chief Magistrate began to prod the clumps of reed along the bank, pushing the long pole deep into the water. At last, in the tangle of vegetation, he came upon resistance. He clenched his teeth against the stench and kept his thoughts upon the need to be rid of the corpse. Drake stood watching a distance away, unwilling to come any closer.

The rotting object was now visible. Partially covered by a shroud, it lay face down in the water. A hand dangled free. Holwell remembered his collision with the funeral bier on his way to Demonteguy. He looked down into the murky depths and
manoeuvred
the pole until the thing was free of the reeds and pulled forward by the tide. Slowly then it bobbed away, leaving the scent of putrefaction.

Just at that moment there came a shout. The Chief Magistrate looked up to see a small boat arriving at the landing stage. The boatman secured the craft and a man disembarked. Holwell recognised Demonteguy.

The materialisation of the Frenchman, at such a moment and from such an unexpected place, took the Chief Magistrate by surprise. Demonteguy strode towards him with an expression of ferocity. He breathed heavily and was unshaven. His shirt was open at the neck, his coat was dusty and he wore no stockings. He had forgotten to put on his wig. In the boat a woman sat waiting. Demonteguy did not halt before the Chief Magistrate but reached out and took hold of him roughly by his neck cloth. Holwell was jerked forward until his chin nearly touched Demonteguy’s nose. The Frenchman’s sour breath covered his face. The Governor stood a distance away in interested observation; since he had never been introduced to Demonteguy, he saw no need to come forward.

‘Damn you, Holwell. Where are my jewels?’ Demonteguy shook the Chief Magistrate.

‘Why are you here on my land, arriving in this manner?’ The Chief Magistrate managed to free himself from the Frenchman’s grasp.

‘Where is my property?’ Demonteguy shouted.

‘Your property, sir, is with you.’ The Chief Magistrate spoke smoothly.

‘My diamonds are with
you
.’ Demonteguy howled like a dog. ‘I demand you give them to me,
now
.’

‘If you have mislaid your mother-in-law’s jewels, that is not my affair,’ Holwell shrugged. Proof, he had found, was like fruit that had sunk to the bottom of a cake; its presence was undetectable until a thorough excavation was made.

‘I have mislaid nothing. You took them forcibly from the old woman into your own safe keeping,’ Demonteguy roared. ‘I am now falsely accused of theft by that Notary, Dumbleton, and must flee my home with my wife. Within the hour it is said they will come for me, to fling me into jail.’

‘None of this is my fault. I acted properly upon your behalf. It is the prying nose of Dumbleton that has brought you to this unhappy state.’ The Chief Magistrate marvelled at Dumbleton’s tenacity. At a time of such emergency, the Mayor’s Court still appeared to have the energy and the means to pursue Demonteguy.

‘I’ll see you in your grave for this.’ Demonteguy hopped from foot to foot in anger. The last pink rays of sun shone down upon his balding head. He had already the appearance, thought Holwell, of a fugitive: erratic, slovenly, desperate, his eyes feverishly aglitter. Who would believe his word against that of the Chief Magistrate?

‘Did they see you run by the river?’ Holwell asked. Observing Demonteguy’s panic, he found he grew steadily calmer. It was Demonteguy’s word against his. He had only to hold to his story.

‘They will not catch me,’ Demonteguy answered.

‘They have seen you flee, then?’ Holwell confirmed. His last fear of Demonteguy slid away.

‘Better go quickly while you can. I will not alert the law. And if there are enquiries, I will say I saw nothing of you. This much I can do to help you. I do it only for the sake of your wife.’ The Chief Magistrate narrowed his eyes, scouring the river. His gaze rested a moment on the tense figure of Rita awaiting her husband in the boat. Demonteguy followed his gaze. He began to back away.

‘This is not the end of it. I shall have an accounting. You are no better than a thief.’ Demonteguy turned at last towards his boat.

Shadows were now collecting fast. Bats already flitted about. The Governor stepped forward and stood beside the Chief Magistrate to watch the Frenchman’s departure. Holwell kept his eyes upon Rita, but she gave no sign of recognition. She sat unmoving, her head erect. Darkness was settling on the river, although the sky remained light. Slowly, as the Chief Magistrate watched, Demonteguy’s boat moved away from the landing stage and was soon swallowed by the dusk.

‘What was all that about?’ Drake enquired.

‘The man is a lunatic. These are the hazards of legal work. Sometimes it is difficult to know the true nature of those one tries to help.’ The Chief Magistrate’s voice was filled with relief. He thought of the diamonds locked in the drawer of his desk, and immediately new energy filled him.

‘If Siraj Uddaulah approaches further, we must expect even the coolies who prepare our defences to vanish before our eyes,’ the Governor worried.

Drake’s comments forced the Chief Magistrate to think again of Siraj Uddaulah. For some moments they stood in the growing shadows. The air was thick with the river; the smoke of dung fires drifted over the Ditch as Black Town prepared for the evening. A moth brushed against the magistrate’s hand. The sky was darkening quickly as if sluiced down with ink. Holwell turned towards the house and the Governor followed, anxious to depart. As the heavy shape of the house reclaimed him, the Chief Magistrate gave a shudder. Silence once more surrounded him. He must soon scout
about for a candle stub and find the remains of stale bread and cheese. And upon his bed, he knew already, the whine of mosquitoes would not disturb him so much as the memory of Demonteguy’s face, and the corpse that had stopped by his garden. The stiff figure of Rita, fading slowly into the dusk, would also return, trailing devilish memories. The uncertainty of the future came down upon him suddenly. He turned at last to the Governor.

‘Perhaps we would do well to call into the fort the women and children of White Town. Already their men are part of the militia and reside within.’

‘Has it come to that?’ the Governor asked in a low voice.

‘We do not want panic. It is a precaution we must now take.’ the Chief Magistrate warned. The Governor sighed and nodded.

Holwell accompanied Drake to the door and swung it shut behind him. Then he turned to face the empty house, dreading the long night ahead.