The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [155]
The air was stagnant and heavy and the water’s surface was like glass, unscarred by the faintest touch of wind. Fokir was drenched in sweat, and the look of puzzlement on his face had been replaced by an expression of concern: after seven hours of watching the water they had seen nothing of any interest. Piya gestured to Fokir, urging him to stop and rest, but he paid no attention: he seemed to be intent on penetrating ever deeper into the tidal labyrinth.
THE INITIAL PART of the journey to Lusibari led through a part of the tide country that was little frequented, and for the first few hours after its departure from Garjontola, the Megha encountered no other vessels, large or small. But then its route brought the bhotbhoti in view of a major seaward channel, the Jahajphoron River, and suddenly the waterways were as inexplicably busy as they had been empty before. With the river’s width lying athwart the bow, it became evident, even from a distance, that there were a great many boats out on the water. This would not have seemed untoward if it were not for the fact that the boats were all heading in the same direction — inland, and away from the sea.
Having had little rest the night before, Kanai had fallen asleep soon after the Megha left Garjontola. He was woken by the sound of Horen’s voice, summoning his grandson from the deck below.
Sitting up in his bunk, Kanai found his clothes and sheets soaked in sweat. He had shut the door at dawn, when the air was still chilly, but now, with hours to go before noon, the cabin’s bulwarks were already radiating heat. Kanai stepped out to find Horen standing at the bow, peering at the broad river ahead while Nogen tended the wheel.
“What’s the matter, Horen-da?” Kanai said as he made his way forward to the bow. “What do you see?”
“Look over there,” Horen answered, raising a hand to point ahead.
Kanai shaded his eyes as he considered the sight. Unused though he was to these waterways, he sensed there was something odd about the traffic in front of them. But the exact nature of the problem eluded him. “All I see is a lot of boats,” he said.
“Don’t you see, they’re all heading in the same direction?” Horen said gruffly. “They seem to be going back to their villages.”
Glancing at his watch, Kanai saw that it was a little after ten in the morning. It struck him that it was early in the day for fishermen to be bringing home their catch. “Why’re they heading back at this hour?” he said. “Isn’t it the wrong time?”
“Yes,” said Horen. “You wouldn’t normally see them going that way until quite late in the evening.”
“So what could the matter be?”
“At this time of year,” Horen said, “it’s usually only one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
Horen shrugged, and his eyes seemed to disappear into the enigmatic folds of his face. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He turned away and went back to the wheelhouse to take over the steering.
It took another ten minutes to cover the distance to the river ahead. Once Horen had executed the turn into the main channel of the Raimangal, he cut the engine so that the Megha drifted almost to a standstill. Then, with Nogen handling the wheel, Horen went to the stern and waited for a fishing boat to draw abreast. Soon a whole cluster of boats gathered there and shouts rang back and forth as the returning fishermen exchanged questions and answers with Horen. Then the boats sailed on and Horen came hurrying back to the wheelhouse, grim-faced and glowering. A muttered command sent Nogen racing down to start the engine while Horen took hold of the wheel.
Kanai was aware of a stab of apprehension as he looked at the set cast of Horen’s profile. “So, Horen-da,” he said, “what is it? What did you find out?”
Horen answered brusquely, “It’s just what I thought. What else would it be at this time of year?”
There was a storm on its way, Horen explained. A jhor. The weather office in New Delhi had put out warnings since the day before that it might even