Flood of Fire by Amitav Ghosh Read Free Book Online

at your earliest convenience.’
    *
    Kesri’s hopes of receiving a letter from home were so much buoyed by Pagla-baba’s prediction that he spurred his horse into a full gallop as he rode to the camp.
    He was only a few minutes away when he spotted his servant, Dhiru, running towards him.
    Havildarji! Subedar Nirbhay Singh has asked you to go to his tent. At once.
    Reining in his horse Kesri said: What does the subedar want? Do you know?
    He’s received a letter from his village, said Dhiru. I think it is bad news, havildarji. You’d better hurry.
    Kesri gave him a nod and again nudged his horse into a gallop.
    By the time Kesri entered the camp dozens of men were filing towards the subedar’s tent. Most of them were close relatives of the subedar’s, and Kesri could tell from their demeanour that there had been some kind of bereavement in the family. He was mildly flattered to be included in this gathering.
    Dismounting near the tent, Kesri found himself face to face with the paltan’s munshi.
    What’s happened, munshiji? What’s going on?
    Haven’t you heard? said the munshi. The subedar’s had very bad news from home. His brother, Bhyro Singhji, is dead.
    Kesri started in shock: Bhyro Singh had always seemed to be destined to outlive his contemporaries.
    Bhyro Singhji mar goel? He’s dead? But how?
    He was killed at sea, many months ago. He had taken a job on a ship, escorting girmitiya migrants. He was on his way to Mauritius when it happened. And there’s some other news too – that’s why the subedar has sent for you. You’d better go.
    Kesri put a hand on the munshi’s shoulder: Yes, munshiji, but first tell me – did a letter come for me in the daak?
    The munshi shook his head: No, forgive me, havildarji, there was nothing for you.
    Kesri bit his lip in disappointment. Are you sure? Nothing?
    Nothing. You’d better go to the subedar now.
    Kesri stepped into the tent to find the subedar seated on a mat: he was an imposing-looking man, with a broad, heavy face and a luxuriant, greying moustache.
    Subedar-sah’b, said Kesri, you sent for me?
    The subedar looked up at him with reddened eyes. Yes, havildar; there is bad news.
    I heard about Bhyro Singhji, your brother. It is very sad—
    The subedar cut him short. Yes but that’s not all. The letter Ireceived had some other bad news too, concerning my nephew Hukam Singh, who is married to your sister.
    Wohke kuchh bhael ba? Has something happened to him?
    Hukam Singh mar goel . He too is dead.
    This stunned Kesri. Dead? But how? What happened?
    There is no explanation in the letter, said the subedar. But some relatives of mine are coming to Assam to meet me. They should reach our base at Rangpur soon – they will tell us everything. But what about you? Has your family sent any news of your sister?
    No, subedar-sah’b. Nothing. I was hoping to get a letter in this daak, but the munshiji tells me there is nothing for me.
    Kesri lowered his face. He could not believe that his family had not written to tell him that his sister Deeti had been widowed. The silence was bewildering: what could it possibly mean?
    On the way to his tent Kesri stopped to vent his disappointment on Pagla-baba: Why did you say there was a letter for me? There was nothing – kuchho nahin!
    Pagla-baba answered with a wide grin: I didn’t say you would get a letter, havildarji. All I said was that you’d have news of your relatives. And you did, didn’t you?

Two

    S unset was approaching by the time Zachary stepped on the budgerow, with his ditty bag slung over his shoulder. There was mud everywhere and the companion-ways were blocked by piles of dead leaves, fallen branches and discarded rigging. He almost tripped on a belaying pin as he went to hang his ditty bag on a spar; it was rolling about on the planks, mired in grease and dirt.
    Less than a year had passed since Zachary had last set