'Yes. Kindly proceed.'
'Not unless you are able to provide me with a little morceau of help.'
Ever alert to the hint of a bargain, the Baboo was suddenly watchful. 'And what morsel of assistance is required? Please to spell it out.'
Paulette gave him a long, steady look. 'Baboo Nob Kissin,' she said. 'Do you recall why my father came to see you? And when?'
'Just before departure for heavenly abode, no?' said the gomusta. 'How I could forget, Miss Lambert? You think I am a ninnyhammer? What is said with dying breaths cannot be lightly disposed off.'
'You recall that he wanted to procure me a passage to the Mauritius?'
'Naturally,' said Baboo Nob Kissin. 'This item I only conveyed, no?'
Paulette's right fist crept slowly out of her sari. 'And you told him, did you not, that you could do it in exchange for this?' Opening her palm she thrust towards him the locket he had handed to her a few weeks before.
Baboo Nob Kissin glanced briefly at her palm. 'What you are intimating is correct. But what is the relevance I do not see.'
Paulette took a deep breath. 'Baboo Nob Kissin – I propose to hold you to your words. In exchange for this locket I wish to obtain a passage on the Ibis.'
'Ibis!' Baboo Nob Kissin's mouth dropped open. 'You are mad or what? How you shall go on Ibis? Only coolies and quoddies may be accommodated on said vessel. Passenger traffic is not existing.'
'That matters nothing to me,' said Paulette. 'If I could join the labourers I would be content. It is you who is in charge of them, are you not? No one will be advised of it if you add another name.'
'Miss Lambert,' said the gomusta frostily. 'I daresays you are trying to pull out my legs. How you could forward such a proposal I cannot realize. At once you must scrap it off.'
'But Baboo Nob Kissin,' Paulette beseeched him, 'tell me: what difference will arrive to you if you add one more name to the list? You are the gomusta and there are so many labourers. One more will not be remarked. And as you can see, you yourself would not have recognized me in this sari. No one will learn of my identity: you need have no fear, I assure you, and in return you will have the locket.'
'No, by Jupiter!' Baboo Nob Kissin shook his head so violently that his huge ears flapped like wind-blown ferns. 'Do you know what Master shall do if this scheme is exposed and I am spotted out as the culprit? He shall break my head. And Captain Chillingworth is too much colour-conscious. If he finds I have consigned one memsahib as coolie, he will strangulate and make into tiffin for sharks. Baba-re… no, no, no…'
Spinning around, the gomusta went crashing through the curtain of hanging roots. His voice carried back to Paulette as his steps receded: '… No, no, this scheme will lead only to a big-big mischief. Must immediately be scotched…'
'Oh please, Baboo Nob Kissin…'
Paulette had invested all her hopes in this meeting and her lips began to tremble now as she contemplated the failure of her plan. Just as the tears were beginning to trickle from her eyes, she heard Baboo Nob Kissin's heavy tread coming back through the thicket. There he was again, standing before her, sheepishly twisting the fringe of his dhoti.
'But listen, one thing,' he said. 'You have overlooked to inform about the escapade with Master…'
Under the cover of her ghungta, Paulette quickly dabbed her eyes and hardened her voice. 'You will learn nothing from me, Baboo Nob Kissin,' she said. 'Since you have offered me no assistance nor any recourse.'
She heard him swallow and looked up to see his Adam's apple bobbing pensively in his throat. 'Might be, one recourse is there,' he muttered at last. 'But it is endowed with many pitfalls and loopholes. Implementation will be extremely difficult.'
'Never mind, Nob Kissin Baboo,' said Paulette eagerly. 'Tell me, what is your idee? How can it be done?'
Through the season of festivities, the city resounded with celebrations, which made the silence within the camp all the more difficult to bear. When Diwali came, the migrants marked it by lighting a few lamps, but there was little cheer in the depot. There was still no word of when they would leave and every new day sent a fresh storm of rumours blowing through the camp. There were times when it seemed that Deeti and Kalua were the only people there who believed that a ship really would come to take them away; there were many who began to say, no, it was all a lie, that the depot was just a kind of jail where they had been sent to die; that their corpses would be turned into skulls and skeletons, so that they could be cut up and fed to the sahibs' dogs, or used as bait for fish. Often these rumours were started by the spectators and camp-followers who lurked perpetually outside the fence – vendors, vagrants, urchins, and others in whom the sight of the girmitiyas inflamed an inexhaustible curiosity: they would stand around for hours, watching, pointing, staring, as if at animals in a cage. Sometimes they would bait the migrants: Why don't you try to escape? Come, we'll help you run away; don't you see they're waiting for you to die so they can sell your bodies?
But when a migrant did run off, it was those very spectators who brought him back. The first to try was a grizzled, middle-aged man from Ara, a little weak in the head, and he had no sooner broken through the fence than they caught hold of him, tied his hands and dragged him back to the duffadar: they received a nice little reward for their pains. The would-be escapee was beaten and made to go without food for two days.
The climate of the city – hot, humid and damp – made things worse, for many people fell ill. Some recovered, but others seemed to want to sicken and fade away, so disheartened were they by the waiting, the rumours, and the disquieting feeling of being held captive. One night a boy became delirious: although very young, he had long, ash-smeared locks, like a mendicant's; people said he had been kidnapped and sold off by a sadhu. When the fever took hold of him, his body became scalding hot, and horrible sounds and imprecations began to pour from his mouth. Kalua and some of the other menfolk tried to fetch help, but the sirdars and maistries were drinking toddy and would pay no attention. Before daybreak there was a final outbreak of shouts and curses, and then the boy's body went cold. His death seemed to arouse much more interest among the overseers than his illness had done: they were unaccustomedly prompt in arranging to have the corpse carried away – for cremation, they said, at the nearby burning ghats – but who could know for sure? None of the girmitiyas was allowed to leave the depot to see what happened, so no one could say anything to the contrary when a vendor whispered through the fence that the boy had not been cremated at alclass="underline" a hole had been bored in his skull and his corpse had been hung up by the heels, to extract the oil – the mimiái-ka-tel – from his brain.
To counter the rumours and ill auguries, the migrants spoke often of the devotions they would perform the day before their departure: they talked of pujas and namazes, of recitations of the Qur'an and the Ramcharitmanas and the Alha-Khand. When they spoke of these rituals, it was in eager tones, as though the occasion was much to be looked forward to – but this was only because the dread inspired by the prospect of departure was so profound as to be inexpressible, the kind of feeling that made you want to squat in a corner, hugging your knees and muttering aloud, so that your ears would not be able to hear the voices in your head. It was easier to speak of the details of rituals, and to plan them minutely, comparing them all the while with the pujas and namazes and recitations of the past.
When the day finally came, it was not as they had envisioned: the only augury of their departure consisted of the sudden arrival at the camp of the gomusta, Nob Kissin Baboo. He hurried into the overseers' hut and was closeted with them for a while; afterwards, the sirdars and maistries gathered everyone together and then Ramsaran-ji, the duffadar, announced that the time had come for him to take his leave of them: from here on, until they reached Mareech and were each allotted to a plantation, they would be in the custody of a different set of guards, overseers and supervisors. This team had boarded their ship already and had made sure that the vessel was ready to receive them: they themselves would be boarded tomorrow. He ended by wishing them sukh-shánti, peace and happiness, in their new home and said he would pray to the Lord of Crossings to keep them safe: Jai Hanumán gyán gun ságar…