"Must feel for bottom and anchor," said Rama as darkness fell. "We cannot see stars and might run aground."
We found the water a mere three fathoms deep and put down two anchors. With dawn came a drizzle. By keeping the wind on our starboard beam and the low line of land to our port, we cut a fairly straight course along the coast.
At last the coast of Syrastrenê—which must surely be the lowest, flattest land on earth—curved around to the northeast, so that we could again run free. We anchored and spent another night in the pattering rain. The sailors released Hippalos and came aft to apologize. They practically licked the decks we trod upon in their eagerness to have us forget the recent unpleasantness.
Only Nysos and Apries hung back, looking scared and apprehensive. I had seen them whispering frantically to the other sailors, trying to keep command of the situation. But from then until we reached Barygaza, I never saw a more alertly obedient crew, jumping to obey our orders before we had finished giving them, as if they hoped we should forget their mutiny.
The next day we sailed up the Gulf of Kammonoi, between Syrastrenê and the Barygaza country. This gulf is so wide that, from the middle, one can barely see the two shores from the masthead. But it is no open seaway, being full of shoals and reefs. We brailed up our sails and felt our way, with Rama watching from the bow and a sailor from the masthead. Rama said:
"Captain, you tie a piece of white cloth to masthead."
"Why?"
"To tell pilot boat we into Barygaza are coming."
Accordingly, I flew a strip of white rag as he had said. The rain ceased, and in an hour a boat appeared to starboard. As it came closer, I saw-it was a big twenty-oared barge, moving briskly. The naked, black, muscular rowers backed water under our bow, and a skirted man called up to Rama. I caught the words:
"Rama son of Govinda! Is that really you?"
"Yes, it really is," replied Rama, and the two went off into a long talk, too fast for me to follow.
At last the man in the barge threw up a rope, which Rama caught and made fast to the sternpost. We furled our sails, and the barge towed us towards the eastern shore, avoiding shoals by a winding course. I saw that we were entering the estuary of a river, which Rama called the Nammados. The shores of the estuary narrowed, and the incoming tide boosted us along at a lively clip.
The sky had partly cleared and the sun, half hidden by clouds, was setting in the Gulf of Kammonoi behind us when we reached Barygaza. The city was built around a low hill—a mere hummock, but conspicuous in that flat country. A fort or castle crowned this hill. The banks of the Nammados, clad in palms, stretched away to east and west.
The barge towed us to one of a number of tidal basins along the shore, a furlong below the city on the north bank. These basins were natural hollows in the river bed, which had been enlarged by the hand of man. As we anchored, a gang was finishing its day's work on the adjacent basin, hauling mud up from the bottom in buckets. Arab coasters, dwarfed by the Ourania, lay in others.
I asked Rama how much to pay the barge. Since the amount he named seemed reasonable, I paid. Later I learnt that he had named twice the going rate. No doubt he and the barge captain split the overcharge.
"He says," reported Rama, "we must stay on board tonight. Too late for inspectors."
I led the crew in the prayer of gratitude to Poseidon, and the cook got our dinner on board. During the evening, Rama coached me on how to behave ashore. "You must not," he said, "kill or harm any animal."
"What! You mean I can't even take a whack at a dog that snarls at me, or a cow that gets in my way?"
"Oh, no! Especially not cow. Indians are loving cows; man who hurts cow is worst kind of criminal. Brachmanes love cows even more than we Buddhists. They tear you to pieces if you hurt cow; but we think that is superstition. We just flog you."
"What's your king like?"
"I am not knowing. Naraina—barge captain I was talking to—says we have a new king, just elected."
"You mean you elect your kings in India?"
"In Barygaza, yes. Other places, king's son becomes king, or council chooses him, or candidates fight to death—every place is different Two candidates were, one of merchants and one of sailors. Big election riot was; many people killed."
"Who won?"
"The sailor. He promised to lower harbor dues, but already he is raising them." Somehow, that sounded familiar.
Next morning it rained again. The harbor master and his guards came aboard. I gave him a hearty greeting in Indian and a broad smile, but he only stared at me as if I were an insect of some repellant kind and proceeded to inspect the cargo. He collected his harbor tax, rattled off a sentence too fast for me to catch, and departed.
"What said he?" I asked Rama.
"He said you must call on king in middle of afternoon, today."
"I hope you'll come along."
"Oh, yes, he told you to bring Lord Hippalos and me."
I started to ask about court etiquette, but my words were cut off by a deep, booming roar. The tide was coming up the Nammados in a three-foot wave. I yelled to the sailors to loose the anchor cables but to hold them and brace themselves. They had hardly done so when the wave reached us. It split, foaming, into our little basin, and the Ourania was boosted into the air like a chip. The screaming sailors were jerked about the deck like dolls; one man almost went over the side. But, at the cost of some burnt hands, we had kept our anchors and cables. We pulled in and belayed the cables, while Rama bleated:
"Oh, Captain Eudoxos, I am so sorry! I meant to tell you about tide, but I am forgetting with excitement of getting home again!"
"By Bakchos' balls, must we watch for this thing twice a day?" I asked.
"It depends on time of month. When moon is at half, only little tidal wave is. When he is new or full, he even bigger than this one is. You see that all little ships have gone ashore."
I looked across the broad Nammados and, sure enough, the swarm of small craft that had plied it a half-hour earlier had vanished. Soon they began to reappear, creeping out from shore like so many water insects frightened by some splashing bather.
When the excitement had subsided, I made the sailors line up in front of the cabin to draw their pay, fining them two days' wages for the mutiny. As usual, some wanted the whole sum due them, to blow in one grand spree. Others, saving up for a house or a ship of their own, took only enough for small purchases and banked the rest with me. When the turn of Nysos and Apries came, however, I gave them their full pay for the voyage and told them:
"Take your gear and get off the ship. You're through."
Both spoke in shrill tones: "You can't do that to us, Captain ... You wouldn't maroon us here ... We might never get home ... We don't know the language or the customs ... You might as well kill us ..."
"You should have thought of that sooner," I said. "Now get off before I kick you off. If I find you hanging around the ship, or trying to stow away, I'll hang your heads from the yardarms."
If this has been a port of the Inner Sea, I should have dismissed the entire crew of mutinous rascals. But here, I knew, I should never find another Greek-speaking crew, so I should maroon myself as well.
When the rain let up, I gave Hippalos the deck and went ashore with Rama. The Indian's first task was to thank Buddha for his safe return. I accompanied him to a temple. This was a stone building of modest size, shaped like a kiosk.
Inside stood no statue, but a set of symbols of this sect, carved in stone. There was an empty throne, with an umbrella leaning against it. The prints of bare human feet were chiseled in the stone of the pavement before the throne. Behind the chair rose a pillar with a thing on its top that looked like a flower, but which I was told was a wheel with twenty-four spokes. Looking at these symbols, one had the uneasy feeling that the demigod (or however one should class the Lord Buddha) had just gotten up and walked out and might return any moment.