The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [132]
The noise inspired a peculiar dread in Kanai, and he said, on an impulse, “Piya, I don’t know if we should go any farther.”
“Why not?”
“Do you know what those voices remind me of ?” said Kanai.
“A crowd?”
“A mob is what I would call it — an angry mob.”
“A mob?” said Piya. “In a small village?”
“I know, it’s the last thing you’d expect,” said Kanai. “But if I were just to listen to my ears, I’d say it was a riot, and I’ve been in riots where people were killed. I have a feeling we’re heading into something like that.”
Narrowing her eyes, Piya scanned the shimmering mist. “Let’s just take a look.”
Although the tide had peaked some hours before, the water was still high and Fokir had no trouble pushing his boat’s prow beyond the river’s muddy edge. Ahead lay a slope of damp earth, shaded with mangroves and carpeted with roots and seedlings. Fokir had steered the boat close to the point where the crowd had gathered, and beyond the shadow of the embankment the mist was lit by the orange glow of the massed torches.
Kanai and Piya were picking their way through the mangroves when Horen waved them to a stop. He took the flashlight out of Kanai’s hand and shone it down at his feet. Going over to join him, Kanai and Piya saw that the beam had settled on a mark in the ground. The earth here was neither dry nor wet but pliable, like clay, and it had preserved a stencil-like impression. Neither Kanai nor Piya had any doubt of what it was: the prints were as clearly marked as those of a kitten daubed on a kitchen floor — only many times larger. The shape was so sharply defined that they could see the very texture of the circular pads and the marks made by the retracted claws. Then Horen shone the beam ahead, and they saw a trail of similar depressions, leading up toward the embankment from the shore. From the trajectory of the marks it was easy to plot the animal’s path: it had crossed over from the forested bank on the far shore of the river and had touched land at almost the same point as their boat.
Piya said, “It must have passed within sight of the Megha.”
“I suppose so — but since we were all asleep, it was in no danger of being spotted.”
When they neared the crest of the embankment Horen pointed to a large mark in the dust and gestured to indicate that this was the place from which the animal had surveyed the village and picked out its prey. Then he made a sign to show that it was probably from here that it had sprung to attack. The old man was beside himself with anxiety now and he went running ahead, with Fokir in close pursuit. Piya and Kanai were a few paces to their rear — and on reaching the top of the embankment their progress was brought to an abrupt halt by the spectacle that lay ahead. By the light of the torches they saw that the village was made up of clusters of mud huts, so arranged as to run parallel to the embankment. Directly in front of them, a few hundred yards away, was a small mud-walled structure with a thatched roof. More than a hundred people had gathered around this little hut. Most of them were men and many were armed with sharpened bamboo poles: these they were plunging into the hut again and again. Their faces were contorted in such a way that they seemed to be in the grip of both extreme fear and uncontrollable rage. Many of the women and children in the crowd were shrieking, “Maar! Maar! Kill! Kill!”
Kanai spotted Horen on the edge of the crowd, and he and Piya went to join him. “Is this where your relatives live?” said Kanai.
“Yes,” said Horen, “this is their place.”
“What happened? What’s going on?”
“Remember the buffalo giving birth?” Horen said. “That’s what started it. The big cat heard the sound across the water. That’s what brought it here.”
The hut ahead was a livestock pen, said Horen. It belonged to his relatives, who lived in a larger dwelling nearby. A scant half hour before, the family had been awakened by a crashing sound, followed by frenzied cries from