Then they heard Munia's voice: Bacháo! Save me, oh you people, they're taking me down to their kamra…
Munia's words were cut suddenly short, as if a hand had been clamped over her lips.
Paulette snatched at Deeti's elbow. Bhauji! We have to do something! Bhauji! There's no telling what they might do to her.
What can we do, Pugli?
It passed through Deeti's mind to say no, this wasn't her burden, she wasn't really everyone's Bhauji and couldn't be expected to fight every battle. But then she thought of Munia, all alone, amongst a roomful of silahdars and maistries, and her body rose as of itself. Come: let's go to the ladder.
With Kalua clearing a path, she went up the ladder and began to bang on the hatch: Ahó! Who's there? Where are you – oh, you great paltans of maistries and silahdars?
Receiving no answer, she turned to face the dabusa: And you? she said to her fellow migrants. Why're you all so quiet now? You were making enough noise a few minutes ago. Come on! Let's see if we can't rattle the masts on this ship; let's see how long they can ignore us.
It began slowly, the noise-making, with the hills-men rising to their feet to stamp on the deck-planks. Then someone began to bang her bangles on a thali and others joined in, beating gharas and pots, or just shouting or singing, and within a few minutes it was as if some uncontainable force had been released inside the dabusa, an energy that was capable of shaking the oakum from the schooner's seams.
Suddenly, the hatch-cover flew open and the voice of an unseen silahdar came echoing through the opening. The gratings were still in place and Deeti could not see who was speaking nor follow his words. She set Kalua and Paulette to the task of silencing the others and raised her ghungta'd face to the hatch: Who are you up there?
What's going on with you coolies? came the answer. What's this noise?
You know very well what's going on, said Deeti. You've taken one of our girls away. We're worried about her.
Worried, are you? – the sneer was audible – why weren't you worried when she was whoring herself to a lascar? A Muslim at that?
Malik, said Deeti. Let her come back to us, and we'll settle the matter amongst us. It's best that we deal with our own.
It's too late for that; the Subedar-ji says she has to be kept in a safe place from now on.
Safe? said Deeti. Amongst all of you? Don't tell me that stuff: I've seen it all – sab dekhchukalbáni. Go: tell your subedar that we want to see our girl and won't rest till we do. Go. Right now.
There was a brief silence, during which they could hear the maistries and silahdars consulting with each other. In a while, one of them said: Keep quiet for now, and we'll see what the subedar says.
All right.
An excited hubbub broke out in the 'tween-deck as the hatch-cover slammed back into place:
… You've done it again, Bhauji…
… They're scared of you…
… What you say, Bhauji, they cannot but do…
These premature comments filled Deeti with dread. Nothing's happened yet, she snapped; let's wait and see…
A good quarter of an hour passed before the hatch-cover opened again. Then a finger came through the gratings to point to Deeti. You there, said the same voice. The subedar says you can go and see the girl; no one else.
Alone? said Deeti. Why alone?
Because we don't want another riot. Remember what happened at Ganga-Sagar?
Deeti felt Kalua's hand slipping into hers, and she raised her voice: I won't go without my jora, my husband.
This led to another whispered consultation and another concession: All right then – let him come up too.
The gratings creaked open and Deeti climbed slowly out of the dabusa, with Kalua following behind her. There were three silahdars on deck, armed with long staves, their faces shadowed by their turbans. As soon as Deeti and Kalua stepped out, the gratings and hatch-cover were slammed shut, with such finality that Deeti began to wonder whether the guards had been waiting all along to separate the two of them from the other migrants: could it be that they had walked into a trap?
Her misgivings deepened when the sirdars produced a length of rope and ordered Kalua to put out his hands.
Why are you binding his wrists? cried Deeti.
Just to keep him quiet while you're gone.
I won't go without him, said Deeti.
Do you want to be dragged then? Like the other one?
Kalua jogged her elbow: Go, he whispered. If there's trouble, just raise your voice. I'm here; I'll be listening and I'll find a way – ham sahára khojat…
Deeti lengthened her ghungta as she followed the silahdar down the ladder that led to the beech-kamra. In comparison with the dabusa, this part of the vessel was brightly lit, with several lamps suspended from the ceiling. The lights were swinging in wide arcs, with the rolling of the ship, and their pendulum-like movement multiplied the shadows of the men inside, so that the cabin seemed to be filled with a crowd of hurtling figures and shapes. Stepping off the last rung, Deeti averted her eyes and clung to the ladder to steady herself. She could tell from the mingled smell of smoke and sweat that there were many men inside the compartment; even with her head lowered she could feel their eyes boring into the shield of her ghungta.
… This is the one…
… Jobhan sabhanké hamré khiláf bhatkáwat rahlé…
… The one who's always inciting the others against us…
Deeti's courage almost failed her now, and her feet would have ceased to move if the silahdar had not muttered: What are you stopping for? Keep moving.
Where are you taking me? said Deeti.
To the girl, said the silahdar. Isn't that what you wanted?
Candle in hand, the silahdar led her down another turn of the ladder, stepping off when they came to a warren of storerooms. The smell of the bilges was so strong now that Deeti had to pinch her nostrils between finger and thumb.
The silahdar came to a halt at a latched door. This is where she is, he said. You'll find her inside.
Deeti glanced fearfully at the door. In there? she said. What is that place?
A bhandar, said the silahdar as he pushed the door open.
The smell of the storeroom was pungently reminiscent of a bazar, with the gummy, oily reek of heeng overpowering even the stink of the schooner's bilges. It was very dark, and Deeti could see nothing, but she heard a sob and cried out: Munia?
Bhauji? Munia's voice rose in relief. Is it really you?
Yes, Munia, where are you? I can't see anything.
The girl rushed into her arms: Bhauji! Bhauji! I knew you would come.
Deeti held her off with extended arms. You fool, Munia, you fool! she cried. What were you doing up there?
Nothing, Bhauji, said Munia. Nothing, believe me – he was just helping me with the chickens. They stole up on us and started beating him. Then they threw him down.
And you? said Deeti. Have they done anything to you?
Just a few slaps and kicks, Bhauji, not much. But it's you they've been waiting for…
Suddenly Deeti became aware that someone else was standing behind her now, with a candle in hand. Then she heard a deep, heavy voice, saying to the silahdar: Take the girl away – it's the other one I want. I'll talk to her alone.
In the flickering light, Deeti could see sacks of grain and dal, piled high on the floor of the storeroom. The shelves along the sides were crammed with jars of spices, bundles of onion and garlic, and huge martabans of pickled limes, chillies and mangoes. The air was befogged with white dust, of the kind that is sweated by bags of grain; as the door of the storeroom slammed shut, a flake of red chilli entered Deeti's eye.
So?
Unhurriedly, Bhyro Singh latched the door of the storeroom and stuck his candle upright, in a sack of rice. Deeti had been facing away from him all this while, but she turned around now, holding her ghungta in place with one hand and rubbing her eye with the other.