Sea of Poppies

Ten

As he stepped past the tall mahogany doors of Mr Burnham's Dufter, it seemed to Baboo Nob Kissin that he had left the heat of Calcutta behind and arrived in another country. The dimensions of the room, with its apparently endless stretch of floor and soaring walls, were such as to create a climate peculiar to itself, temperate and free of dust. From the massive beams of the ceiling, an enormous cloth-fringed punkah hung down, sweeping gently back and forth, creating a breeze that was strong enough to paste the gomusta's light cotton kurta against his limbs. The veranda that adjoined the Dufter was very broad, so as to keep the sun at bay by creating a wide threshold of shade; now, at midday, the balcony's khus screens were hanging low, and the tatties were being wetted constantly, by a team of punkah-wallahs, to create a cooling effect.

Mr Burnham was sitting at a massive desk, bathed in the muted glow of a skylight, far above. His eyes widened as he watched Baboo Nob Kissin walking across the room. 'My good Baboon!' he cried, as he took in the sight of the gomusta's oiled, shoulder-length hair and the necklace that was hanging around his neck. 'What on earth has become of you? You look so…'

'Yes, sir?'

'So strangely womanish.'

The gomusta smiled wanly. 'Oh no, sir,' he said. 'It is outward appearance only – just illusions. Underneath all is same-same.'

'Illusion?' said Mr Burnham scornfully. 'Man and woman? God made them both as they were, Baboon, and there's nothing illusory about either, nor is there anything in between.'

'Exactly, sir,' said Baboo Nob Kissin, nodding enthusiastically. 'That is what I am also saying: on this point no concession can be made. Unreasonable demands must be strenuously opposed.'

'Then may I ask, Baboon,' said Mr Burnham, frowning, 'why you have chosen to adorn yourself with that' – he raised a finger to point at the gomusta's bosom, which seemed somehow to have attained an increased salience within the contours of his body – 'may I ask why you are wearing that large piece of jewellery? Is it something you got from your sammy-house?'

Baboo Nob Kissin's hand flew to his amulet and slipped it back inside his kurta. 'Yes, sir; from temple only I got.' Improvising freely, he rushed to add: 'As such it is mainly for medicinal purposes. Made from copper, which enhances digestion. You can also try, sir. Bowel movements will become smooth and copious. Colour will also be nice, like turmeric.'

'Heaven forbid!' said Mr Burnham with a gesture of distaste. 'Enough of that. Now tell me, Baboon, what's this urgent business you wanted to see me about?'

'Just I wanted to raise up some issues, sir.'

'Yes, go on. I haven't got all day.'

'One thing is about camp for coolies, sir.'

'Camp?' said Mr Burnham. 'What do you mean, camp? I know of no camp for coolies.'

'Yes, sir, that is the discussion I want to raise up. What I am proposing is, why not to build a camp? Here, just see and you will be convinced.' Taking a sheet of paper from a file, Baboo Nob Kissin laid it in front of his employer.

The gomusta was well aware that Mr Burnham considered the transportation of migrants an unimportant and somewhat annoying part of his shipping enterprise, since the margins of profit were negligible in comparison to the enormous gains offered by opium. It was true that this year was an exception, because of the interruption in the flow of opium to China – but he knew that he would still have to present a strong case if he was to persuade the Burra Sahib to make a significant outlay in this branch of his business.

'Look here, sir, and I will show…' With the numbers written down, Baboo Nob Kissin was able to demonstrate, quickly and graphically, that the cost of buying the campsite, erecting huts and so on, would be earned back in a couple of seasons. 'One big advantage, sir, you can sell camp to gov'ment in one, two years. Profit could be healthy.'

This caught Mr Burnham's attention. 'How so?'

'Simple, sir. You can tell to Municipal Council that proper immigrant depot is needed. Otherwise cleanliness will suffer and progress will be delayed. Then to them only we can sell, no? Mr Hobbes is there – he will ensure payment.'

'Splendid idea.' Mr Burnham sat back in his seat and stroked his beard. 'There's no denying it, Baboon, from time to time you do serve up some excellent notions. You have my permission to do whatever's necessary. Go on. Don't waste any time.'

'But, sir, one other issue is also raising its head.'

'Yes? What is it?'

'Sir, supercargo for Ibis has not been appointed yet, no sir?'

'No,' said Mr Burnham. 'Not yet. Do you have someone in mind?'

'Yes, sir. The proposal I would like to moot out, sir, is that I myself should go.'

'You?' Mr Burnham looked up at his gomusta in surprise. 'But Baboo Nob Kissin! Whatever for?'

The gomusta had his answer ready: 'Just, sir, the reason is to observe the field situation. It will facilitate my work with coolies, sir, so I can provide fulsome services. It will be like plucking a new leaf for my career.'

Mr Burnham cast a dubious glance at the gomusta's matronly form. 'I am impressed by your enthusiasm, Baboo Nob Kissin. But are you sure you'll be able to cope with the conditions on a ship?'

'Definitely, sir. Already I have been on one ship – to Jagannath temple, in Puri. No problem was there.'

'But Baboon,' said Mr Burnham, with a satirical curl of his lip. 'Are you not afraid of losing caste? Won't your Gentoo brethren ban you from their midst for crossing the Black Water?'

'Oh no, sir,' said the gomusta. 'Nowadays all are going for pilgrimage by ship. Pilgrims cannot lose caste – this can also be like that. Why not?'

'Well I don't know,' said Mr Burnham, with a sigh. 'Frankly, I don't have time to think about it right now, with this Raskhali case coming up.'

This was the time, Baboo Nob Kissin knew, to play his best card. 'Regarding case, sir, can I kindly be permitted to forward one suggestion?'

'Why, certainly,' said Mr Burnham. 'As I recall, it was all your idea in the first place, wasn't it?'

'Yes, sir,' said the gomusta with a nod, 'it was myself only who suggested you this scheme.'

Baboo Nob Kissin took no little pride in having been the first to alert his employer to the advantages of acquiring the Raskhali estate: for some years, it had been rumoured that the East India Company was to relinquish its control on opium production in eastern India. Were that to happen, poppies might well become a plantation crop, like indigo or sugar-cane: with the demand rising annually in China, merchants who controlled their own production, rather than depending on small farmers, would stand to multiply their already astronomical profits. Although there was, as yet, no clear sign that the Company was ready to make the necessary concessions, a few far-sighted merchants had already started looking for sizeable chunks of land. When Mr Burnham began to make inquiries, it was Baboo Nob Kissin who reminded him that he need look no further than the hugely indebted Raskhali estate, which was already within his grasp. He was well acquainted with several crannies and mootsuddies in the Raskhali daftar, and they had kept him closely informed of all the young zemindar's mis-steps: like them, he regarded the new Raja as a dilettante, who had his nose in the air and his head in the clouds, and he fully shared their opinion that anyone so foolish as to sign everything that was put before him, deserved to lose his fortune. Besides, the Rajas of Raskhali were well known to be bigoted, ritual-bound Hindus, who were dismissive of heterodox Vaishnavites like himself: people like that needed to be taught a lesson from time to time.