River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [63]
Ji, Sethji.
‘And Gujarati?’
No, Sethji.
Bahram seemed not at all displeased by this. ‘That is all right. No need to know everything. Gujarati I can manage myself.’
Ji, Sethji.
‘But reading-writing is not all it takes to make a good munshi. Something else also there is, no? You know about what I am talking?’
I’m not sure, Sethji.
Bahram came to a halt in front of Neel, clasped his hands behind his back, and leant down so that his eyes were boring into Neel’s. ‘What I am talking is trust – shroffery – or sharaafat as some would say. You know the words no, and meanings also? For me munshi is the same as shroff, except that he deal with words. Just as shroff must lock the safe, so must munshi lock the mouth. If you are working for me, then everything you read, everything you write, all must be locked inside your head. That is your treasury, your khazana.’
Then, Bahram walked around the chair, placed his hands on Neel’s neck and turned his head from side to side.
‘You understand no, munshiji? Even if some dacoit tries to twist your head off, safe must stay closed?’
The tone of Bahram’s voice was playful rather than threatening, yet there was something in his manner that conveyed a faint sense of menace. Although discomfited, Neel managed to keep his composure. Ji, Sethji, he said. I understand.
Good! said Bahram cheerfully. But one more thing you should know: writing letters will not be the biggest part of your job. More important by far is what I call ‘khabar-dari’ – getting the news and keeping me informed. People think that only rulers and ministers need to know about wars, politics and all that. But that was only in the old days. Nowadays we are in a different time: today a man who does not know the khabar is a man who is headed for the kubber. This is what I always say: the news is what makes money. Do you understand me?
I’m not sure, Sethji, Neel mumbled. I don’t understand how the news can be of help in making money.
All right, said Bahram, pacing the floor. I will tell you a story that may help you understand. I heard it when I visited London with my friend, Mr Zadig Karabedian. It was twenty-two years ago – in 1816. One day someone took us to the Stock Exchange and pointed out a famous banker, one Mr Rothschild. This man had understood the importance of khabar-dari long before anyone else, and he had set up his own system for sending news, with pigeons and couriers and all. Then came the Battle of Waterloo – you have heard of it, no?
Ji, Sethji.
The day the battle was fought everyone was nervous in the London Stock Exchange. If the English lost, the price of gold would fall. If they won it would rise. What to do? Buy or sell? They waited and waited, and of course this banker was the first to know what had happened at Waterloo. So what do you think he did?
He bought gold, Sethji?
Bahram gave a belly-laugh and clapped Neel on the back. See, that is why you are a munshi and not a Seth. Arré budhu – he began to sell! And when he started to sell everyone thought, wah bhai, the battle is lost, so we’d better sell too. So the price of gold went down, down, down. Only when the time was right did Mr Rothschild step in to buy – and then he bought and bought and bought. You see? It was just that he knew the news before anyone else. Later some people told me the story is not really true – but what does it matter? It is a story for the times we live in, na? I tell you, if I had had the courage, I would have gone up to that man and touched his feet. You are my Guruji! I would have said.
Bahram had been pacing all this while, but now he came to a stop in front of Neel: So do you see munshiji, why khabar-dari is important for a businessman like me? You know, no, that we are going to Canton? When we get there you will have to be my eyes and ears.
Neel took alarm at this: In Canton, Sethji? But how? I don’t know anyone there.
Bahram shrugged this off. You don’t need to know anyone. You can leave that part to me. What you have to do is to read two English journals that are published in Canton. One is called the Canton