Of Shireen’s immediate relatives those who were best placed to be informed about Bahram’s business affairs were her two brothers, who had jointly inherited the company upon their father’s death, a couple of years before. Shireen could scarcely doubt that they knew something about the state of her husband’s finances, yet neither of them showed any signs of broaching the subject, even though they visited her several times each day.
It was certainly no secret to Shireen that her husband and her brothers had been locked in a struggle over the company after her father’s untimely death. The tussle was not unexpected: her brothers had never considered Bahram worthy of the Mestrie family and he in turn had heartily reciprocated their ill-will. Ever since the day of Shireen’s wedding the tensions between her siblings and her husband had snapped and whirred around her, like ropes around a windlass. But through most of her married life Shireen had been privy only to the familial aspects of the conflict: where matters of business were concerned her father had enforced an uneasy peace. It was only after the patriarch’s death that Shireen had herself become the pivot on which the family’s tensions turned.
No one knew better than Shireen how betrayed and ill-used her husband had felt when her brothers had tried to pension him off so that they could dispose of the branch of the company that Bahram had himself built up — the hugely profitable shipping and export division. But to be a party to his own dispossession was not in keeping with Bahram’s character: he had decided to acquire the export division for himself, and to that end he had invested in a massive consignment of goods for China, in the hope of raising the funds for an outright purchase. Not being a man for half-measures he had decided that his consignment would consist of the largest cargo of opium ever to be shipped from Bombay. To raise the money for it he had tapped every source of capital available to him — business partners, community leaders, relatives — and finding himself still short he had turned finally to Shireen, asking her to pawn her jewellery and mortgage the land she had inherited from her father, in Alibaug and Bandra.
Over the years Shireen had been at odds with Bahram over many things, most of all his apparent unconcern for their lack of a son. She had often pleaded with him to search for a cure, but he had never taken the matter seriously, which had caused her great pain and regret. But when it came to business she knew that his instincts were unerring — he had always proved his doubters wrong. She herself, being of a naturally pessimistic bent, had often been among those who expected his ventures to fail. But they never had — and in time she had grown to accept that in these matters it was best to trust her husband’s judgement. So in the end she had yielded to his entreaties and allowed him to dispose of her inheritance as he thought best.
What had happened to that money? Why had nobody mentioned it to her? For a while she clung to the reassuring notion her family was avoiding the subject because they did not want to raise it in company. It was true certainly that between her daughters, her sisters, her grandchildren and her own sizeable contingent of bais and khidmatgars, there was scarcely a moment when she was alone. Even her nights were not really her own, for there was always someone at hand to make sure that she took a liberal dose of laudanum before going to bed.
Shireen was not ungrateful for her family’s support, yet, after a while, it became apparent to her that there was something odd about the nature of their sympathy. Her relatives’ concern seemed to be focused entirely on herself — her departed husband seemed hardly to figure in their thoughts. When she made an attempt to reverse this, by announcing that she wanted to hold a lavish ‘Farvandin roj’ ceremony for Bahram, in the Fire Temple, no one paid her any mind. Instead, without consulting Shireen, the family organized a small service that was attended only by a few close relatives.
When she tried to question her daughters about this they fobbed her off by muttering about the expense. She knew then that something was being concealed from her and that she would have to take matters into her own hands. The next day she sent notes to her brothers asking them to visit her as soon as possible.
Next morning, punctilious as ever, they came up together, dressed for the day, in crisp angarkhas and neatly tied white turbans. After a few conventional words of greeting Shireen said: I’m glad you’ve come; I’ve been wanting to ask you about some things.
What things?
About my husband’s business dealings. I know he had sunk a lot of money into this last trip to China. I was wondering what became of his investments.
There was a silence and Shireen saw that they were exchanging glances, as if to urge each other to go first. To make it easier for them to speak she broke in: You must tell me; I should know.
They fell on this opening with some relief.
The situation was very unfortunate, they said. Bahram-bhai had made some terrible mistakes; his love of risk had led to calamity; he had taken an enormous gamble and his wager had gone disastrously awry.
Shireen’s fingers snaked through the folds of her white sari seeking the comfort of the sacred kasti threads that were girdled around her waist.
What happened? she said. Tell me about it.
After some hesitation they began to speak together: It was not entirely Bahram’s fault, they said. He had been caught unawares by recent developments in China. Soon after he reached Canton a new viceroy had been appointed, a mandarin by the name of Commissioner Lin — by all accounts a power-crazed madman. He had detained all the foreign merchants and forced them to surrender the opium they had shipped to China that season. Then he had personally overseen the destruction of their cargoes — goods worth millions of Spanish dollars! Bahram was among the biggest losers; his entire cargo had been seized and destroyed — a consignment that he had bought mostly with borrowed money. As a result his debts to his creditors in Bombay were still unpaid; had he returned he would have had to default and declare bankruptcy — this wasn’t surprising perhaps; he had always been a gambler and a speculator, just like his grandfather before him.
Shireen listened as if in a daze, with her hands clasped on her lap. When they had finished, she said: Is there really nothing left? Nothing?
They shook their heads: there was nothing. Bahram had left behind nothing but debts. Such were the circumstances that his flagship, the Anahita, had perforce been sold off at Hong Kong, to one Benjamin Burnham, an English businessman, for a price far below the vessel’s value. Even the houses Bahram had built for his daughters would need to be sold. Fortunately she, Shireen, was provided for — she still had this apartment, in their family house; at least she would never have to worry about having a roof over her head. And her sons-in-law were both doing well; they had decided to put money into a fund that would provide her with a monthly allowance. She would have to economize of course, but still with a bit of care she would certainly be able to get by.
At this point an odd thing happened. A butterfly flitted through an open window, hovered over their heads for a bit, and then settled briefly on a framed portrait of Bahram. Shireen gasped and pulled off her veiclass="underline" the portrait was one that Bahram had brought back from Canton many years before. It showed him in a dark blue choga, sitting with his knees slightly apart, his square face, with its neatly trimmed beard, looking startlingly handsome, a smile curling his lips.
Shireen had always believed that even the most trivial occurrences could be freighted with meaning; to her it seemed self-evident that when things happened in conjunction — even small things — the connections were never without significance. Now, even after the butterfly had flown away, she could not wrench her gaze from the portrait. Bahram seemed to be looking directly at her, as though he were trying to tell her something.