River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [215]
At this point, the company was joined by Zadig, who had celebrated Navroze in the Achha Hong many times before. Comforted by his friend’s familiar presence Bahram seated him to his right and served him Mesto’s offerings with his own hands: fish of several kinds, crisply fried and steamed in a wrapping of leaves; jardalu ma gosht, mutton cooked with apricots; kid in a creamy almond sauce; goor per eeda – eggs on mutton marrow; cutlets of many kinds, some frilly with tomato gravy and some made of lamb brains, crisp on the outside and meltingly soft within; kebabs of prawn and rice-flour rotis; khaheragi pulao with dried fruit, nuts and saffron – and much else. All through the meal wine, red and white, flowed freely, and at the end, Mesto served cakes, custards and sweet pancakes with coconut. He had even succeeded in obtaining some yogurt, from the Tibetans across the river – he served the dahi with sugar and spices, layered with a fine dusting of powdered nutmeg and cinnamon.
Afterwards, when everyone had left, Zadig stayed on, for a tumbler of chai in the daftar.
What a feast, Bahram-bhai! One of the best I’ve had under your roof – you could have fed an army!
The compliment, following as it did on the strangely mixed emotions of the day, threw Bahram into a mood of reflection. His eyes wandered to the small portrait of his mother that hung on his wall.
You know, Zadig Bey, he mused, when I was a little boy there were times when all there was in our house was a few rotlis made from bajra. We had so little money that when my mother cooked rice, she would even make us drink the ‘pagé’ – the water in which it was cooked. Often we would eat the rice only with raw onions and chillies, and perhaps a little methioo, which is a kind of mango pickle. Once or twice a month we would share a few pieces of dried fish and that we would consider a feast. And now …
Bahram broke off to look around his daftar: I wish my mother could have seen all this, Zadig Bey. I wonder what she would have said.
Zadig looked at him with a teasing smile: And what would she have said, Bahram-bhai, if she’d known that it had all come from opium?
Although the question had been asked in a jocular way, Bahram was stung; a sharp retort rose to his lips, but he bit it back. He lowered his tumbler of chai and answered in a steady voice: I’ll tell you what she would have said, Zadig Bey: she would have said that a lotus cannot bloom unless its roots are planted in the mud. She would have understood that opium is not important in itself: it is just mud – it is what grows out of it that is important.
And what will grow out of it, Bahram-bhai?
Bahram calmly returned his friend’s gaze: The future, Zadig Bey he said; that’s what will grow out of it. If things go well and I am able to make a profit on my investments I’ll be able to forge a new way ahead – for myself, and maybe for all of us.
What way? What are you talking about?
Don’t you see, Zadig Bey? We are living in a world not of our own making. If we refuse to take advantage of the few opportunities that are open to us, we will not be able to keep up. In the end we will be driven out of business. I saw the start of this with my father-in-law and I won’t let it happen to me.
What do you mean, Bahram-bhai? What happened to your father-in-law?
Bahram took a sip of his chai. I’ll tell you a story, Zadig Bey, he said. It is about the Anahita. You’ve seen how beautifully the ship is built? Let me tell you why my late father-in-law took so much care over this vessel. For years he had been building ships for the English – for the East India Company and for the Royal Navy. Five frigates he built, and three ships of the line and any number of smaller vessels. He could build them better and cheaper in Bombay than they could in Portsmouth and Liverpool – and with all the latest technical improvements too. And when the shipbuilders of England realized this, what do you think happened? They talk of Free Trade when it suits them – but they made sure that the rules were changed so that the Company