Part 15 (1/2)

'That's the best part of it, dear,' said Mrs Burnham cheerfully. 'You won't have to. He's no chuckeroo after all, and I doubt he is long for this world. And just imagine - after the dear, sainted man is gone you'll be able to swan off to Paris with his cuzzanah and before you know it, some impoverished duke or marquis will come begging for your hand.'

'But Madame,' said Paulette, sobbing, 'what will be my profit from this, if my youth is forfeit and I have wasted the love that is in my heart?'

'But Puggly dear,' protested the BeeBee. 'You could learn to love the judge, could you not?'

'But one cannot learn to love, Madame,' Paulette protested. 'Surely it is more like a coup de foudre - how do you say in English - like being shot by his bolt?'

'Shot by his bolt!' Mrs Burnham clapped her hands over her scandalized ears. 'Puggly! You really must watch what you say.'

'But is it not true, Madame?'

'I'm sure I wouldn't know.' Her suspicions awakened, Mrs Burnham turned to rest her chin on her hand and directed a long, searching glance at Paulette. 'Pray tell me, dear Puggly - there isn't someone else, is there?'

Paulette was in a panic now, knowing that she had given away more than she should have. But denial was futile too, she knew, for to tell a direct lie to someone as shrewd as Mrs Burnham was merely to double the risks of detection. So instead she hung her head, in silence, and lowered her streaming eyes.

'I knew it!' said the BeeBee triumphantly. 'It's that American, isn't it - Hezekiah or Zebediah or whatever? But you're out of your mind, Puggly! It would never serve. You're too poor to throw yourself away on a sailor, no matter how handsome or well-spoken. A young seaman - why, that's the worst kismet any woman could wish for, even worse than a wordy-wallah! They're gone when you need them, they never have a dam's worth of silver to call their own, and they're dead before the children are out of their langoots. With a cla.s.sy for a husband, you'd have to find a job as a harry-maid just to get by! I don't think it would suit you at all, dear, cleaning up other people's cabobs and emptying their dawk-dubbers. No, dear, it can't be allowed, I won't hear of it ...'

Suddenly, as her suspicions deepened, the BeeBee cut herself short and clamped her hands on her mouth. 'Oh! dear, dear Puggly - tell me - you haven't ... ? ... you haven't ... No! Tell me it isn't so!'

'What, Madame?' said Paulette, in puzzlement.

The BeeBee's voice sank to a whisper. 'You haven't compromised yourself, Puggly dear, have you? No. I will not credit it.'

'Compromise, Madame?' Paulette proudly raised her chin and squared her shoulders. 'In matters of the heart, Madame, I do not believe that half-measures and compromises are possible. Does not love demand that we give our all?'

'Puggly ... !' Mrs Burnham gasped, fanning herself with a pillow. 'Oh my dear! Oh heavens! Tell me, dear Puggly: I must know the worst.' She swallowed faintly and clutched her fluttering bosom: '... is there? ... no surely there isn't! ... no ... Lud! ...'

'Yes, Madame?' said Paulette.

'Puggly, tell me the truth, I conjure you: there isn't a rootie in the choola, is there?'

'Why, Madame ...'

Paulette was a little surprised to see Mrs Burnham making such a to-do about a matter she usually touched upon so lightly - but she was glad, too, to have the conversation turned in this new direction, since it presented a good opportunity for escape. Hugging her stomach, she made a moaning sound: 'Madame, you are prefectly right: I am indeed a little foireuse today.'

'Oh dear, dear Puggly!' The BeeBee dabbed her streaming eyes and gave Paulette a pitying hug. 'Of course you're furious! Those budzat sailors! With all their udlee-budlee, you'd think they'd leave the larkins alone! My lips are sealed, of course - no one will learn of it from me. But Puggly dear, don't you see? For your own sake, you must marry Mr Kendalbushe at once! There is no time to waste!'

'No indeed, Madame, there is not!' Just as Mrs Burnham was reaching for her laudanum, Paulette leapt to her feet and ran to the door. 'Forgive me, Madame, I must away. The coorsy will not wait.'

The word 'Calcutta' had no sooner been uttered than every window in the girmitiyas' pulwar flew open. In the men's section, with its greater press of numbers, there was a good deal of jostling and pus.h.i.+ng and not everyone was able to find a desirable vantage point; the women were luckier - with two windows to share between them, they were all able to look at the sh.o.r.efront as the city approached.

On the journey downriver, the pulwar had stopped at so many large and populous towns - Patna, Bhagalpur, Munger - that urban vistas were no longer a novelty. Yet, even the most worldly of the girmitiyas was caught unawares by the spectacle that unfolded around them now: the ghats, buildings and s.h.i.+pyards that lined the Hooghly were so numerous, so crowded and of such a size that the migrants fell into a silence that was in equal measure awestruck and appalled. How was it possible that people could live in the midst of such congestion and so much filth, with no fields or greenery anywhere in sight; such folk were surely another species of being?

As they drew closer to the docks, the river traffic thickened and the pulwar was soon surrounded by a forest of masts, spars and sails. In this company, the pulwar seemed a paltry vessel, but Deeti was suddenly filled with affection for it: in the midst of so much that was unfamiliar and intimidating, it seemed like a great ark of comfort. Like everyone else, she too had often been impatient for this stage of the journey to end - but now it was with deepening dread that she listened to the duffadar and the sirdars as they made preparations for the migrants' disembarkation.

Silently, the women collected their belongings and crept out of their enclosure; Ratna, Champa and Dookhanee hurried off to join their husbands, but Deeti, having appointed herself the guardian of the single women, gathered Munia, Sarju and Heeru around her and took them along to wait with Kalua. Soon the sirdars came down to let the migrants know that from here they would be taken to their camp in hired rowboats, ten or twelve at a time. The women were the first to be called on to make the switch; along with their spouses, they emerged on deck to find a rowboat waiting beside the pulwar.

But how are we going to get down there? said Sarju, in alarm - for the boat sat low in the water, well beneath the deck of the pulwar.

Yes, how? cried Munia. I can't jump that far!

That far! A shout of mocking laughter came echoing back to them from the boat. Why, a baby could do it. Come, come - there's nothing to be afraid of ...

It was the boatman speaking, in a quicksilver, citified Hindusthani that Deeti could just about follow. He was a stripling of a fellow, dressed not in the usual lungi and banyan, but in patloon pants and a blue vest that billowed around his wiry chest. His dark, thick hair had a coppery tint because of prolonged exposure to the sun, and it was held in place by a rakishly tied bandhna. He was laughing, with his head thrown back, and his bright, impudent eyes seemed sharp enough to pierce the cover of their veils.

What a dandy of a fellow! Munia whispered to Deeti, from under her ghungta.

Don't so much as look at him, warned Deeti. He's one of those townie flirts, a real bka-bihari.

But the boatman was still laughing, beckoning them on: What're you waiting for? Jump, na! Do I have to spread my net, to catch you like so many fishes?

Munia giggled and Deeti couldn't help laughing too; it had to be admitted that there was something quite fetching about the fellow: perhaps it was the brightness of his eyes, or the carefree mischievousness of his expression - or was it the quirky little scar on his forehead that gave him the appearance of possessing three eyebrows rather than two?

Ey! said Munia giggling. And what if we jump and you drop us? What'll happen then?

Why should I drop a thin little thing like you? said the boatman, winking. I've caught many fish that are bigger: just take a jump and see ...

This had gone far enough now, Deeti decided; as the senior married woman of the group, it was her duty to enforce the proprieties. She turned upon Kalua and began to scold: What's the matter with you? Why don't you step into the boat and help us climb down? Do you want this lecher of a lucchha to be putting his hands on us?

Chastened, Kalua and the other men stepped into the boat and reached up to help the women down, one by one. Munia hung back and waited until there was only one pair of hands that was unoccupied - the boatman's. When she made her jump, he caught her neatly, by the waist, and deposited her gently in the boat: but in the process, somehow, Munia's ghungta slipped - whether by accident or design Deeti could not tell - and there followed a long instant when there was no barrier at all between her coquettish smile and his hungry eyes.

How long the girl would have allowed herself this liberty, Deeti did not know and was not willing to find out. Munia! she said in a tone of sharp admonition. Tu kahe aisan kail karala? Why do you act like this? Don't you have any shame? Cover up at once!

Obediently, Munia draped her sari over her head and went to sit beside Deeti. But despite the demureness of her att.i.tude, Deeti knew, from the angle of her head, that the girl's eyes were still entangled with the boatman's.

Aisan mat kara! she said sharply, elbowing the girl's flanks. Don't carry on like this ... what will people think?

I'm just listening to what he's saying, Munia protested. Is that a crime?

Deeti had to admit that it was hard to ignore the boatman, for he was talking almost without interruption, keeping up a continuous patter as he pointed out the sights: ... there to your left are the opium G.o.downs ... fine place to lose yourself, eh? ... no end to the happiness to be found there ...

But even as he was speaking, he kept turning around so that Deeti knew full well that he and Munia were fencing with their eyes. In indignation, she appealed to the men: Look at how this launda talks! Are you going to let him get away with all his loochergiri? Isn't there something you can do? Show him you have some spirit too - josh dikhawat chalatba!

But it was to no avail, for the men too were listening open-mouthed: although they had heard stories about the fast-talking haramzadas of the city, they had never seen one in person before; they were mesmerized, and as for remonstrating with him, they knew all too well that the rascal would only make a mockery of their rustic tongues.

The boat made a turn from the river into a nullah, and in a while the boatman pointed to a grim set of walls, looming in the distance. Alipore Jail, he announced gravely; the most fearsome dungeon in the land ... oh if you but knew of the horrors and tortures of that place! ... of course, it won't be long before you find out ...

Mindful of the many rumours they had heard, the migrants exchanged nervous glances. One of them inquired: Why are we going towards the jail?

Didn't they tell you? said the boatman, offhandedly. That's where I've been ordered to take you. They're going to make candles out of the wax in your brains ...

There were several audible gasps of alarm, to which the boatman responded with a cackle of knowing laughter: ... No, just joking ... no, that's not where you're going ... no, I'm taking you to the cremation ghat over there ... do you see the flames, and smoke? . . they're going to cook the lot of you - alive at that ...

This too was met with gasps, which amused the boatman all the more. Goaded beyond endurance, Champa's husband shouted: Hase ka ka batba re? What're you laughing at? Hum kuchho na ho? You think we're nothing? Want a beating, do you?

From an idiot rustic like you? said the boatman, laughing all the louder. You dehati - one flick of my oar and you'll be in the water ...

Suddenly, just as a fight was about to break out, the boat pulled up to a jetty and was tied fast: beyond lay a newly cleared stretch of sh.o.r.e, still littered with the stumps of recently felled trees. Three large, straw-thatched sheds stood in a circle at the centre of the clearing; a short distance away, next to a well, was a modest little shrine, with a red pennant flying aloft on a pole.

... This is it, said the boatman, this is where you get off: the new depot for girmitiyas, just built and readied, in time for the arrival of the sheep ...