The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [124]
Presently, just as she had expected, Kanai came to stand beside her. “Bad news, Piya.”
“We’re not going to make it today?”
“Probably not.”
Raising a hand, Kanai pointed across the mohona. There was a small village on the far shore, he explained, and Horen was confident that the Megha could make it there by coasting on the currents. He had relatives in the village and he knew of someone there who’d be able to fix the engine. If all went well, they might be ready to leave for Garjontola the next morning.
Piya pulled a face. “I guess we don’t have many options at this point, do we?”
“No,” said Kanai. “We really don’t.”
Horen, already in the wheelhouse, soon brought the bow around, to point in the direction of the distant village. In a while it became clear that the bhotbhoti had begun to drift across the mohona. Although the tide had turned and the currents were in their favor, their progress was painfully slow. By the time their destination came into view the day was all but over.
The village they were heading for was not directly on the mohona’s banks: it stood in a more sheltered location, on the banks of a channel about a mile wide. With the tide at a low ebb, the riverbank now towered high above the water and nothing of the village was visible from the deck; all that could be seen was the crest of the embankment, where knots of people had gathered, as if to await the Megha’s arrival. As the bhotbhoti edged closer, a few men were seen wading into the mud, waving their arms in welcome. In response, Horen leaned over the rail and shouted to them through cupped hands. A short while later a boat came cannoning down the mudbank and pulled up alongside. There were two men inside, one of whom was introduced as Horen’s relative, a fisherman who lived in the nearby village; the other was his friend, a part-time mechanic. There was an extended round of introductions and greetings and then Horen disappeared below deck with the visitors. Soon the bhotbhoti’s timbers began to ring to the sound of the mechanic’s tools. The sun went down to the accompaniment of much banging and hammering.
A little later, the twilight was pierced by an anguished animal sound: a frantic, pain-filled lowing that brought both Kanai and Piya racing out of their cabins, flashlights in hand.
The same thought had come to both of them. “An attack, you think?” said Piya.
“Can’t tell.”
Kanai leaned over the rail to shout a question to Horen, below deck. The hammering fell silent for a second and then a burst of loud laughter came echoing up.
“What’s the deal?” said Piya.
“I asked if there had been an attack,” said Kanai with a smile, “and they said it was just a water buffalo giving birth.”
“How do they know?” said Piya.
“They know because the buffalo belongs to Horen’s relative,” said Kanai. “He lives right by the embankment — over there.”
Piya laughed. “I guess we were being a little too jumpy.” Knitting her fingers together, she did a long stretch and followed this with a yawn. “I think I’ll go to bed early today.”
“Again?” said Kanai sharply. Then, as if to conceal his disappointment, he said, “No dinner?”
“I’ll have a nutrition bar,” said Piya. “That’ll keep me going till tomorrow. What about you: are you going to stay up late?”
“Yes,” said Kanai. “I’m going to eat dinner, as most mortals do. Then I’m going to stay up and finish reading my uncle’s notebook.”
“Are you close to the end now?”
“Yes,” said Kanai. “Close enough.”
ALIVE
I was still unwell when we returned to Lusibari, and Nilima put the blame for this purely on Horen: “It’s your fault,” she said to him. “You’re the one who’s been taking him to Morichjhãpi. Now look at the state he’s in.”
And it was true I was not well — my head was filled with dreams, visions, fears. Long days went by when I could not get out of my bed: all I did was lie awake and read Rilke in English and Bangla.
To me she spoke more gently: “Didn’t I tell you not to go? Didn’t I tell you it would come to this? If you want to do something useful, why don’t you help with the Trust,