What with the laughter and the singing, time went by so fast that everyone was amazed when the hatch was thrown open again, for the evening meaclass="underline" it was hard to believe that it was already dark. The sight of the full moon, hanging upon the horizon with a great red halo around it, produced an awed hush among the migrants when they came on deck. No one had ever seen a moon so large or so strangely coloured: it was almost as if this were some other lunar body than that which lit the plains of Bihar. Even the wind, which had been blowing strongly through the day, seemed to be refreshed by the brightness of the light, for it picked up another knot or two, deepening the swells that were rolling towards the schooner from the eastern horizon. With the light and the waves coming from the same direction, the sea took on a furrowed appearance that reminded Deeti of the fields around Ghazipur at the time of year when the winter's crop was budding into bloom: then, too, if you looked out at night, you would see deep, dark channels in the fields, separating the endless rows of bright, moonlit blossoms – just like the red-flecked lines of foam that sat gleaming upon the dark troughs of the waves.
The schooner's masts were thesam-thes and the vessel was yawing steeply, with sharp saccades of her sails, leaning to leeward as she rode up the swells, and then easing off as she plunged into the troughs: it was as if she were dancing to the music of the wind, which rose in pitch as the vessel leant to leeward, and fell when she righted her keel.
Even though Deeti had grown accustomed to the motion of the ship, today she could not stay on her feet. For fear of tumbling overboard, she pulled Kalua down to squat on the deck-planks, and wedged herself between him and the solid bulwark beneath the deck rail. Whether it was because of the excitement of the wedding, or the moonlight, or the motion of the ship, she was never to know, but it was just then that she felt, for the first time, an unmistakable movement in her womb. Here! Under cover of the bulwark's shadow, she took Kalua's hand and placed it on her belly: Do you feel it?
She saw the flash of his teeth in the darkness and knew he was smiling: Yes, yes, it's the little one, kicking.
No, she said, not kicking – rolling, like the ship.
How strange it was to feel the presence of a body inside her, lurching in time to her own movements: it was as if her belly were the sea, and the child a vessel, sailing towards its own destiny.
Deeti turned to Kalua and whispered: Tonight it's like we too are being married again.
Why? said Kalua. Wasn't the first time good enough? When you found the flowers for the garlands and strung them together with your own hair?
But we didn't do the seven circles, she answered. There was no wood and no fire.
No fire? he said. But didn't we make our own?
Deeti blushed and pulled him to his feet: Chall, na. It's time to get back to Heeru's wedding.
The two convicts were sitting in the gloom of the chokey, silently picking oakum, when the door opened to admit the large, lamp-lit face of Baboo Nob Kissin.
The long-contemplated visit had not been easy to organize: only with the greatest reluctance had Subedar Bhyro Singh agreed to Baboo Nob Kissin's proposed 'tour of inspection', and on giving his assent, had imposed the condition that two of his silahdars would accompany the gomusta to the chokey and be present at the entrance all the while that he was inside. Having agreed to the arrangement, Baboo Nob Kissin had gone to great pains to prepare for the occasion. For his costume, he had chosen a saffron-coloured alkhalla, a robe voluminous enough to be suitable for male and female devotees alike. Hidden under the flowing folds of this garment, in a strip of cloth that was tied around his chest, was the small hoard of edible treats that he had gathered over the last few days – a couple of pomegranates, four hard-boiled eggs, a few crusty parathas and a lump of jaggery.
This contrivance served its purpose well enough at the start, and Baboo Nob Kissin was able to cross the main deck at a stately pace, walking in a manner that was not undignified, although perhaps a little top-heavy. But when he came to the entrance of the chokey, the matter took quite another turn: it was not easy for a man of his girth to pass through a low, narrow doorway, and in the process of bending and wriggling, some of the gifts seemed to acquire a life of their own, with the result that the gomusta had to use both his hands to hold his heaving bosom in place. Since the two silahdars were waiting at the door, he could not let go of his burden even after he had made his way in: sitting cross-legged in the tiny cell, he was forced into a posture like that of a wet-nurse cupping a pair of sore and milk-heavy breasts.
Neel and Ah Fatt stared at this weighty apparition in astonished silence. The convicts had yet to recover from their run-in with Mr Crowle: although the incident on the fo'c'sle deck had lasted no more than a few minutes, it had hit them with the force of a flash flood, sweeping away the fragile scaffolding of their friendship and leaving a residue that consisted not just of shame and humiliation, but also of a profound dejection. Once again, as through their time at Alipore Jail, they had fallen into an uncommunicative silence. The habit had taken hold so quickly that Neel could not now think of a word to say as he sat staring at Baboo Nob Kissin across a heap of unpicked oakum.
'To check up the premises, I have come.'
Baboo Nob Kissin made this announcement very loudly, and in English, so as to cast the visit in a properly official light. 'As such, all irregularities will be spotted out.'
The speechless convicts made no reply, so the gomusta seized the opportunity to subject their foul-smelling surroundings to a close scrutiny by the flickering light of his lamp. His attention was immediately arrested by the toilet balty and for a few moments his spiritual quest was interrupted by a more earthly interest.
'In this utensil you are passing urine and doing latrine?'
For the first time in a long while, Neel and Ah Fatt exchanged glances. 'Yes,' said Neel. 'That is correct.'
The gomusta's protuberant eyes grew still larger as he contemplated the implications of this. 'So both are present during purging?'
'Alas,' said Neel, 'we have no choice in the matter.'
The gomusta shuddered to think of what this would do to bowels as sensitive as his own. 'So stoppages must be extremely rigorous and frequent?'
Neel shrugged. 'We endure our lot as best we can.'
The gomusta frowned as he looked around the chokey. 'By Jove!' he said. 'Spaces are so scanty here, I do not know how you can refrain to make your ends meet.'
This met with no response and nor did the gomusta require any. He realized now, as he sniffed the air, that Ma Taramony's presence was struggling to reassert itself – for only the nose of a mother, surely, could transform the odour of her child's ordure to an almost-pleasing fragrance? As if to confirm the urgency of his inner being's claim for attention, a pomegranate leapt from its hiding-place and came to rest atop the pile of oakum. The gomusta peered outside in alarm, and was relieved to see that the two silahdars were chatting with each other and had not noticed the fruit's sudden jump.