The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [163]
Hour after hour he sat bewailing his plight; not a single wink of sleep blessed his eyes that night. The other men slept in peace, happily replete; not till daybreak did they wake after night’s retreat. Standing amidst the ships, Dhona said to his men, “Undo the moorings: it’s time to be off again.” Six boats were unloosed at Dhona Mouley’s behest. Only one stayed where it was, apart from the rest.
“Why are you waiting?” said Dhona. “Come on, let’s go.”
“There’s no wood to cook with,” they said. “We need some more.”
Dhona turned to Dukhey when the crew had spoken. “Go and fetch some firewood; there’s not enough for these men.”
“Oh, Chachaji,” said Dukhey, “please don’t give me this chore. Why not send someone else? I don’t want to go ashore. There’s no lack of men here: ask another to rise. Why is it me that you must always tyrannize?”
“You’ve sat on my boat,” said Dhona, “and eaten your fill; yet when I make a request you defy my will? Right in my face you fling this stinging reply: ‘I won’t go ashore, I won’t even try.’ I’m hurt by these insults, this insolence and pride.”
“Chachaji,” said Dukhey, “it’s for you to decide. Of your pact with the deva, I’m not unaware. I know that he wants you to leave me right here. While the demon devours me in a tiger’s guise, you’ll go home rich, carrying this fabulous prize. Back in the village, you’ll go to see my mother. ‘What could I do?’ you’ll say. ‘He met a tiger.’ When you first came to our home, what a tale you spun; on the strength of that, she gave you her only son. Your sacred pledge you’re now going to dishonor; you’ll send me away and be off within the hour. When the news reaches my home, when my mother hears, her life will be over and she’ll choke on her tears.”
“You’re a sly one,” said Dhona, “an expert in deceit. Getting you to obey is a singular feat. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll do as I say, or I’ll just kick you off — you’ll have to go either way.”
“Wasn’t it only for this that you brought me along? You knew I’d die while you grew rich and strong. So then why so much slander, why so much abuse? If the tiger takes me, what do you have to lose? Now salaam chacha, I touch your feet,” said Dukhey. “Point me in the right direction, show me the way.”
Raising a finger, Dhona pointed to the forest. Dukhey stepped off, sorrow swelling in his breast. And even as he crossed the deep mud of the banks, back on the boats they were pulling in the planks.
Then, in his heart’s silence, Dhona began to say, “Listen, Dokkhin Rai: now I’ve given you Dukhey. For the wrongs of the past, deva please forgive me. I wash my hands; now it’s all up to Bon Bibi.”
Away they sailed, and when the boy saw that they’d left, he could move no more; he was utterly bereft. It was then from afar that the demon saw Dukhey. Dhona had kept his word; he had left him his prey. Long had he hungered for this muchawaited prize; in an instant he assumed his tiger disguise. “How long has it been since human flesh came my way? Now bliss awaits me in the shape of this boy Dukhey.”
On the far mudbank Dukhey caught sight of the beast: “That tiger is the demon and I’m to be his feast.”
Raising its head, the tiger reared its immense back; its jowls filled like sails as it sprang to attack. The boy’s life took wing on seeing this fearsome sight. “O Ma, Bon Bibi, deliver me from this plight. Where are you O Mother? Why’re you keeping away? If you don’t come now, it’ll mean the end for Dukhey.”
With these words on his lips, Dukhey lost consciousness. But Bon Bibi, far away, had heard his cry of distress. “I heard the child call,” she said to Shah Jongoli. “The demon will kill him, brother. Quick, come with me. That devil’s desires have outrun him of late; his appetites have grown, they’re like a flood in spate. We can’t let the boy vanish into that