Flood of Fire (45 page)

Sometimes, when the ship heaved, the partition between the cubicle and the cumra would rise clean off the deck-planks, allowing small objects to slip through. One evening, when he was alone in the cubby, Raju looked down to find that a gleaming silver-coloured pipe had appeared on his side of the divide. It had lodged itself under Zachary's sea-trunk, in a position where it was in danger of being crushed.

Raju hurried to rescue the instrument and no sooner had he done so than a commotion broke out on the other side of the bulwark. Putting his ear to a crack in the wood, Raju realized that someone was searching frantically for the fife that he was now holding in his own hands.

How to let the boy know that his fife was safe? An idea came to Raju: he had taken music lessons and was not unfamiliar with instruments like flutes and recorders. Putting the fife to his lips he played a few notes.

The effect was exactly as he had hoped. There was a silence followed by a whispered question: Is that a fife?

Yes, said Raju. It rolled over here.

Another pause and then an entreaty: Yaar, can you meet me outside?

Raju stepped out into the narrow gangway that ran past the cubicle. Shortly afterwards a snub-nosed, brown-haired boy came running towards him.

The gangway was lit by a single, flickering lamp. In the dim light Raju saw that the fifer was not much taller than himself, although he looked much more grown up because of his uniform, with its braided epaulettes.

The fifer received his pipe gratefully and stuck out his hand:
Tera naam kya hai yaar?
What's your name?

Raju.
Aur tera?

Dicky.

Gesturing in the direction of the camp-followers' compartment, the fifer added: I have to practise now but we can talk tomorrow.

The next day the boys talked briefly on the maindeck. Later, they continued their conversation below deck, whispering through cracks in the partition.

Raju was amazed to learn that the banjee-boys actually marched into battle with the sepoys. Theirs was a vital job, Dicky told him; the drummers provided the rhythm for the march, and the fifers piped the signals for the manoeuvres. Without them the sepoys would not know when to wheel from column to line; nor would they be able to form an echelon for an attack. The pitch of the fifers' instruments was so high that they could be heard over the din of battle.

Still more amazing was the discovery that Dicky had actually been in battles himself. Dicky did not make too much of it: ‘We were fighting some Pindarees, men. Bloody buggers would always turn and run after the first volley. Junglee bastards – all beard and no balls.'

After that, when he was alone in the cubby, Raju would often talk to Dicky, whispering through cracks in the bulwark, and soon enough he was speaking exactly like his new-found friend.

Dicky's stories mesmerized Raju: the lives of the fifers and drummers seemed impossibly glamorous; it was hard for him to believe that boys of his own age could have such exciting careers. His own existence seemed embarrasingly commonplace by comparison and he was surprised when Dicky displayed a keen interest in the dullest details of his past: had Raju studied in a school? Did he have a mother? A father? Did they eat in a mess or did his mother cook for them? Where had he learnt English?

Sometimes Raju would drop his guard and reveal a little more than he had intended – as, for example, when he borrowed Dicky's fife and played a tune on it.

‘Where'd you learn to play like that, men?'

‘Took music lessons, no? On the recorder.'

Dicky goggled at him. ‘Arré? What kind of khidmatgar you are, men, taking music lessons and all?'

Raju had to think quickly to retrieve the situation; he did so by inventing a story about how he had once been employed by a bandmaster.

The next day one of the fifers fell ill and Dicky suggested to the fife-major that Raju be allowed to take his place for a few days. The fife-major was a short, hirsute man with a scowl permanently affixed to his face: behind his back the boys called him Bobbery-Bob, because of the exclamations and obscenities that constantly flowed off his tongue.

Raju was allowed to audition and was dismayed to learn afterwards that Bobbery-Bob had said that he'd played like he was ‘shitting the squitters'. But Dicky laughed into his crestfallen face and said that this was in fact a rare accolade: ‘What it means, bugger, is that your notes flowed really smoothly. You're almost one of us now!'

*

Kesri, no less than the younger sepoys, was awed by the sight that greeted them when the
Hind
sailed into Singapore's outer harbour. Six warships were riding at anchor there, one of them a majestic triple-decked man-o'-war.

The transport and supply vessels were moored at a slight distance from the warships. There were no fewer than twelve of them, their decks aswarm with red-coated soldiers and sepoys. The
Hind
dropped anchor right next to the troopship that was carrying their brother unit – the other company of Bengal Volunteers. The sepoys gathered on deck to exchange shouted greetings.

Looking around the harbour, Kesri saw that the Royal Irish Regiment had already arrived, as had the left wing of the Cameronians. The colours of the 49th Regiment could also be seen on a ship that had just sailed in from Colombo. Only the 37th Madras Regiment was still to come.

Later that day Captain Mee summoned Kesri to the quarterdeck for his daily report on the conditions below. Their business was quickly dispatched and afterwards the captain identified the warships for Kesri, rattling off their names one by one: that over there was the eighteen-gun
Cruiser
, and there was the ten-gun
Algerine
riding beside two twenty-eight-gun frigates
Conway
and
Alligator
. And towering over them all was the man-o'-war,
Wellesley
: she was a ship-of-the-line, said Captain Mee, armed with no fewer than seventy-four guns.

The
Wellesley
was the tallest sailing vessel that Kesri had ever set eyes on. He assumed that she was, if not the most powerful vessel in the Royal Navy, then certainly of their number. But Captain Mee explained that by the standards of the Royal Navy the
Wellesley
was but a vessel of medium size, rated as a warship of the third class. Much the same could be said of the fleet itself, the captain added – although large for Asian waters, it was small by the standards of the Royal Navy, which frequently assembled armadas of fifty warships or more.

Kesri was both chastened and reassured to learn of this. He understood from the captain's tone that from the British perspective this expedition was a relatively minor venture and that they were completely confident of achieving their objectives. This was just as well, as far as Kesri was concerned. Heroics were of no interest to him – he had wounds enough to show for his years in service, and all that concerned him now was getting himself and his men safely back to their villages.

Later in the day Captain Mee and his subalterns went off in a longboat, to attend a meeting on the
Wellesley
. When they returned, several hours later, Captain Mee summoned Kesri to his stateroom for a briefing.

There had been some major changes in the expedition's chain of command, the captain told him. Admiral Frederick Maitland, who was to have commanded the expedition, had taken ill and another officer had been given his post – Rear-Admiral George Elliot, who, as it happened, was the cousin of the British Plenipotentiary in China, Captain Charles Elliot.

Rear-Admiral Elliot was on his way from Cape Town and would join the expedition later; until then Commodore Sir Gordon Bremer would be in command, while Colonel Burrell would be in charge of operational details. The colonel had already taken some important decisions regarding the force's stay in Singapore. One of them was that the soldiers and sepoys would remain on their ships, through the duration of the stay.

Kesri was disappointed to hear this, for he had been hoping to spend a few days on dry land. ‘Why so, sir?'

‘Singapore is a small colony, havildar, not yet twenty years old,' said Captain Mee. ‘To set up a camp large enough to hold all of us would be difficult because the island's forests are very dense. And there are tigers too – a couple of men were killed just this week, on the edge of town.'

‘So how long will we be here, sir?'

‘There's no telling,' said the captain. ‘A third or more of the force is still to arrive. I'd say it'll take another couple of weeks, at the very least.'

‘Will there be liberty, sir? Shore leave?'

The captain shot him a glance. ‘It wouldn't be much use to you, havildar,' he said with a wry smile. ‘If you're thinking of bawdy-baskets, you can put that out of your mind. Women are as scarce as diamonds in Singapore – the knocking-shops are full of travesties so you'd probably end up with a molly-dan. And if back-gammoning isn't to your taste, then the only other diversion is chasing the yinyan.'

‘So what will the men do here, sir, for two weeks?'

The captain laughed. ‘Drills, havildar, drills! Boat drills, attack drills, bayonet drills, rocket drills. Don't worry – there'll be plenty to do.'

When Shireen learnt the name of the tall seventy-four-gun frigate in the harbour she gave a cry of recognition: ‘The
Wellesley!
Why, I know that ship – she was built in Bombay, by our friends the Wadias. I was there for the launching. They named her in honour of Sir Arthur Wellesley.'

‘The Duke of Wellington?'

‘Yes,' said Shireen. ‘I saw him once, you know. It was just after he'd won the Battle of Assaye. He was being fêted in Bombay and the Wadias threw a big burra-khana for him at Tarala, their mansion in Mazagon, and we were invited. They allowed the girls and women to watch from a jharoka upstairs. Sir Arthur was the sternest-looking man I've ever seen.'

Zadig burst into laughter. ‘Bibiji, for a woman who has spent much of her life in purdah, you've certainly seen a lot!'

Shireen laughed too, but more out of nervousness than amusement. Zadig understood exactly what was on her mind. ‘You're worrying about Freddie, aren't you, Bibiji?'

Shireen bit her lip and nodded. ‘Yes I am, Zadig Bey – I can't stop thinking about him.'

‘Would you like to come along when I go to look for him, tomorrow?'

The question threw Shireen into a panic. The prospect of meeting her late husband's son in an unfamiliar place, without preparation, was deeply unsettling. ‘No, Zadig Bey,' she said, ‘it can't happen like that. You must give me time, and warning, so that I can be ready.'

‘All right, Bibiji. As you say.'

When it came time for Zadig to go ashore the next morning Shireen was on deck to see him off. Through the rest of the morning she and Rosa took it in turns to keep watch for his return.

Around noon, there was an excited knock on the door of Shireen's stateroom.

Bibiji! said Rosa, sticking her head in. Zadig Bey is back – he's waiting for you on the quarter-deck.

Shireen went hurrying out and found Zadig sitting on a bench, under the awning that had been rigged up to cover the quarterdeck. He rose to his feet with a smile.

‘Bibiji – good news! I found Freddie!'

‘Where, Zadig Bey? Tell me everything.'

‘Finding him was easy, Bibiji. It was he who spotted me as I was walking along Boat Quay. He came hurrying up to greet me, which was lucky, for if I had seen him in a crowd I wouldn't have recognized him.'

‘Why is that?'

‘He is completely changed, Bibiji, in many different ways – even his way of speaking English is different now. His looks have changed too: he is very thin and has grown a beard. To be honest, he does not look well.'

‘Why do you say that?'

Clearing his throat, Zadig said: ‘There is something I haven't told you, Bibiji.'

‘Yes? Go on.'

‘Bibiji, you should know that Freddie is an opium-smoker. This is not unusual in itself, for many people in China smoke occasionally. But Freddie is one of those who has had problems with it. I thought he had given up, but I think he has started again. This has been a difficult time for him, no doubt – Bahram-bhai's death, especially, has been very hard on him.'

Only now did it occur to Shireen that her husband's death, which had so powerfully affected her own life, might have had similar repercussions for his son.

‘Do you suppose he misses his father?'

‘Yes, Bibiji. Even though things were never easy between them, Bahram-bhai was like a great rock that Freddie could both rage against and shelter behind. Now that his father is gone, and his mother too, he is truly alone. It has come as a great blow to him, especially because he was not there at the end, for either of them. In his heart, you know, he is very Chinese, and it weighs on him that he was not able to put his father's soul to rest. He seems, in a way' – Zadig tipped his head back and looked up at the sky as though he were searching for a word – ‘haunted.'

‘Haunted?' A shiver ran through Shireen. ‘By whom? I don't understand, Zadig Bey. Please explain.'

‘I don't know how to tell you this, Bibiji, but what Freddie said is that he sometimes hears Bahram-bhai's voice and feels his presence. In fact he said that this was the reason he moved from Malacca to Singapore. He said he knew I would be coming – he's been waiting for me.'

‘Had you written to him?'

‘No, Bibiji – I don't know how he learnt that I was coming. It's very strange – we can ask him about it tomorrow, when he comes to visit.'

‘Is he coming tomorrow?' cried Shireen. ‘So soon?'

‘Yes, Bibiji,' said Zadig, on a note of finality. ‘He will be here tomorrow morning; of course you need not meet with him, if you don't wish to.'

Shireen passed a restless night and in the morning, when she saw Zadig on the quarter-deck, she was unable to conceal her misgivings: ‘Zadig Bey, I don't know if it's well-advised to meet with Freddie. What good can possibly come of it? I am beginning
to feel that I made a mistake. I should not have set out to look for the boy just to indulge my curiosity.'