On arriving in Canton Bahram had half-hoped and half-expected to find Chi-mei’s boat still in its accustomed place; it was, in a sense, his own property too, since he had contributed liberally to its purchase: he would have liked to be able to dispose of it himself.
The matter had been much on his mind during the last leg of the journey, from Whampoa to Canton, and he had intended to take it up with his comprador, Chunqua, at the earliest opportunity. But when he arrived at Jackass Point, Chunqua’s familiar face was nowhere to be seen: Bahram and his entourage were received instead by one of Chunqua’s sons, who went by the name of Tinqua. It was from him that Bahram learnt that his old comprador had died some months before, after a long illness – and as was the custom his sons had inherited their father’s clients.
Bahram was shaken by the news: Chunqua had been his comprador for a long time; they had started working together when they were both in their twenties, and they had accompanied each other into prosperity and middle-age. The bonds of trust and affection between them had been very deep: they had known each other’s families and when Bahram was away it was Chunqua who had looked after Chi-mei and Freddy; he had kept an avuncular eye on the boy’s upbringing and it was through him that Bahram had sent them money and gifts.
The loss of Chunqua meant the severing of yet another of Bahram’s ties to Canton: he had known his comprador’s sons since their childhood but he could not imagine any of them taking their father’s place – least of all Tinqua, who was a flighty young man, with little interest in his work. When Bahram asked him about Chi-mei’s boat he replied off-handedly that it had been sold – to whom he did not know.
Every time Bahram stepped up to the window now his eyes would stray automatically to the place where the boat had been moored in the past – and when they didn’t find what they were looking for, a twinge would shoot through him, making him flinch.
It was strange that the absence of a single vessel could create a gap in such a densely crowded landscape.
The other pole of Bahram’s life in Fanqui-town was not visible from his window: it was the Canton Chamber of Commerce, which had its premises inside the compound of the Danish Factory.
The Chamber was a more significant body than was suggested by its name: not only did it regulate and speak for the merchants of the foreign enclave, it also controlled the heartbeat of Fanqui-town’s busy social life. Many of the foreign merchants in Canton had spent time in India and were accustomed to the amenities offered by the Byculla Club, the Bengal Club and the like. There being no similar establishment in Canton, the Chamber of Commerce had become willy-nilly the nearest equivalent. It occupied one of the largest buildings in Fanqui-town: House No. 2 in the Danish Factory. On the ground floor were the Chamber’s offices and the Great Hall, which was large enough to accommodate meetings of the entire General Body. The social facilities were on the floor above: this part of the building was known as ‘the Club’ and those members who were willing to pay the extra dues could avail themselves of a smoking room, a taproom, a library, a reception room, a veranda, where tiffin was served when the weather permitted, and a dining room with windows that looked out on a tidal sandbank called Shamian.
The building had yet another floor, above, where lay several sumptuous suites and boardrooms. These were closed to all but a few – the President and the members of the powerful Committee that ran the Chamber. Officially this body was known as the ‘Committee of the Chamber’ – but in Fanqui-town everyone spoke of it simply as ‘The Committee’.
There was one respect however in which the Chamber differed quite markedly from the Bengal and Byculla clubs: the exclusion of Asiatics was here a matter of discretion rather than procedure. This policy was necessitated by the peculiar circumstances of the Canton trade, in which a very large proportion of the incoming goods were shipped from Bombay and Calcutta. Since many of the supply chains, especially of Malwa opium, were controlled by Indian businessmen it was acknowledged to be impolitic to enforce too rigidly the racial norms that were followed by the clubs of the Indian subcontinent. Instead the Chamber’s dues were fixed at very elevated levels, ostensibly to discourage undesirables of all sorts. It was the custom moreover for the Committee to include at least one Parsi – usually the most senior member of the community then in residence in Canton. Among the Bombay merchants this was a hugely coveted appointment, a coronation of sorts, because the Committee was in effect the foreign enclave’s unofficial Cabinet.
Bahram had been in Canton only a week when Vico came up to the daftar with a letter that was stamped with the seal of Mr Hugh Hamilton Lindsay, the current President of the Chamber of Commerce and thus also the head of the Committee. Being well-versed in the conventions and usages of Fanqui-town Vico had a fair idea of what the letter was about. He grinned broadly as he held it up: Look, patrao, see what has come!
The letter was not unexpected, of course, but Bahram was still conscious of an almost childlike thrill when he cracked the seal. This was what he had dreamt of when he first came to Canton, decades ago: to be recognized as the leader of Canton’s Achhas.
He smiled: Yes, Vico – I’ve been invited to join the Committee.
Accompanying the letter was a hand-written note inviting Bahram to a dinner where several other members of the Committee would be present.
Bahram looked up to find Vico grinning as though the triumph were his own. Arre patrao! See what you have become now? You are a Seth of Seths – a Nagar-seth, a Jagat-seth! The whole world is at your feet.
Bahram tried to shrug off the tribute but when he glanced at the letter again his chest swelled with pride: he folded it carefully and slipped it into the chest-pouch of his angarkha, where it lay close to his heart; it was proof that he had now joined the ranks of such great merchants as Seth Jamsetjee Readymoney and Seth Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy; it was confirmation that he, Bahramji Naurozji Modi, whose mother had made ends meet by embroidering shawls, had become a leader amongst a group that included some of the world’s richest men.
The next morning, Zadig walked into the daftar, with his arms wide open: Arre, Bahram-bhai! Is it true that you’ve been invited to join the Committee?
It did not surprise Bahram that Zadig was abreast of the news. Yes, Zadig Bey, it’s true.
Mabrook Bahram-bhai! I’m really glad.
Oh it’s no great thing, said Bahram modestly. The Committee is just a place for people to talk. Behind the scenes it’ll be the same people making all the decisions.
Zadig answered with an emphatic shake of his head. Oh no Bahram-bhai. That may have been true in the past, but it’s going to change very soon.
What do you mean? said Bahram.
Haven’t you heard? said Zadig with a smile. William Jardine has decided to leave Canton. He is going back to England!
This took Bahram completely by surprise: William Jardine had been for at least a decade the most influential man in Fanqui-town. His firm, Jardine, Matheson amp; Company, was one of the largest players in the Canton trade and he had for years been pushing aggressively to expand the Chinese opium market. In India, too, Jardine had an extensive network of friends and was idolized by many: within Bombay’s business circles Bahram was one of the few to be less than smitten with him. This was because Jardine had close ties with a rival Parsi firm and this alliance had caused Bahram many headaches in the past. For Bahram, Jardine’s departure was a thing so fervently to be wished for that he could not believe that it might actually happen.