The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [103]
I remembered the story of the Royal James and Mary, an English ship making its passage through the shoals of the tide country in the year 1694. Night stole unawares upon the many-masted ship and it capsized after striking a sandbank. What would be the fate of such a shipwreck in the benign waters of the Caribbean or the Mediterranean? I imagined the thick crust of underwater life that would cling to the vessel and preserve it for centuries; I imagined the divers and explorers who would seek their fortunes in the wreck. But here? The tide country digested the great galleon within a few years. Its remains vanished without trace.
Nor was this the only such. Thinking back, I remembered that the channels of the tide country were crowded with the graves of old ships. Wasn’t it true that in the great storm of 1737 more than two dozen ships had foundered in these waters? And didn’t it happen that in the year 1885 the British India Steam Navigation Company lost two proud steamers here, the Arcot and the Mahratta? And wasn’t the City of Canterbury added to that list in 1897? But today on these sites nothing is to be seen; nothing escapes the maw of the tides; everything is ground to fine silt, becomes something else.
It was as if the whole tide country were speaking in the voice of the Poet: “life is lived in transformation.”
It is afternoon now in Morichjhãpi and Kusum and Horen have just returned from a meeting of the settlers of this ward. The rumors have been confirmed. The gangsters who have massed on the far shore will be brought in to drive the settlers out. But the attack, they say, will likely start tomorrow, not today. I still have a few hours left.
A PILGRIMAGE
WHEN DINNER ARRIVED, Piya had the feeling that someone had spoken to Moyna about her eating preferences. Today, apart from the usual fare of rice and fish curry, she had also brought some plain mashed potatoes and two bananas. Touched, Piya put her hands together in a namaste to thank Moyna.
Later, when Moyna had gone, she asked Kanai whether it was he who’d spoken to her and he shook his head: “No. It wasn’t me.”
“Must have been Fokir, then.” Piya served herself an eager helping of mashed potatoes. “All I’m missing now is some Ovaltine.”
“Ovaltine?” Kanai looked up from his food in surprise. “You like Ovaltine?” He began to laugh when she nodded. “Do they have Ovaltine in America?”
“It was a habit my parents brought over,” Piya said. “They used to buy their groceries in Indian stores. I like it now because it’s easy to carry and convenient when you’re out on the water.”
“So you live on Ovaltine while you’re tracking these dolphins of yours?”
“Sometimes.”
Kanai shook his head ruefully as he filled a plate with rice, dal and chhechki. “You go through a lot for these creatures, don’t you?”
“That’s not how I think of it.”
“So are they fetching, these beasts of yours?” said Kanai. “Do they hold one’s interest?”
“They’re interesting to me,” said Piya. “And I can give you at least one good reason why they should be of interest to you.”
“I’m listening,” said Kanai. “I’m willing to be persuaded. Why?”
“Because some of the earliest specimens were found in Calcutta,” Piya said. “How’s that for a reason?”
“In Calcutta?” Kanai said incredulously. “You’re telling me there were dolphins in Calcutta?”
“Oh, yes,” said Piya. “Not just dolphins. Whales too.”
“Whales?” Kanai laughed. “Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”
“Not at all,” said Piya. “Kolkata was once a big place for cetacean zoology.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kanai said flatly. “I think I’d know if that were the case.”
“But it’s true,” Piya said. “And let me tell you