The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [167]
It was in this strange habitat — this Indus in the Alps — that Pilleri had observed a curious and previously unknown aspect of Platanista behavior. These animals were very sensitive to atmospheric pressure: weather fronts passing over Bern would cause them to behave in markedly unusual ways.
Piya was trying to recall the exact details of their behavior when her glasses strayed from the river and gave her a glimpse of the horizon to the southeast. Although the rest of the sky was cloudless, at this point of the compass the horizon had acquired a peculiar steely glow.
Piya let her glasses drop and looked from the sky to the dolphins and back again. Now she understood. Without thinking she began to shout, “Fokir, there’s a storm coming! We have to get back to the Megha.”
HOREN’S FINGER POINTED Kanai’s eyes to the southeastern quadrant of the sky, where a dark stain had spilled over the horizon like antimony from an eyelid. “It’s come quicker than I thought,” Horen said, glancing at his watch. “It’s half past five now. I’d say we can wait for thirty minutes more. Any longer than that and we won’t be able to make it back to Lusibari.”
“But Horen-da,” Kanai said, “how can we leave them here to face the cyclone on their own?”
“What else can we do?” Horen said. “It’s either that or we’ll all go down with this bhotbhoti, right here. It’s not just my life or yours I’m concerned about: there’s my grandson to think of too. As for safety, don’t think too much about that — I’m not sure we’re going to make it back either.”
“But couldn’t you find a sheltered spot somewhere nearby?” Kanai said. “Someplace where we could wait out the storm?”
Horen’s forefinger swept over the landscape. “Kanai-babu, look around. Where do you see any shelter? Do you see all these islands around us? When the storm hits, they’re going to be under several feet of water. If we stay here, this bhotbhoti would either capsize in midstream or be driven aground. We have no chance here. We have to go.”
“And what about them?” said Kanai. “What are their chances?”
Horen put a hand on Kanai’s shoulder. “Look. It won’t be easy, but Fokir knows what to do. If anyone has a chance, he does; his grandfather is said to have survived a terrible storm on Garjontola. Beyond that, what can I say? It’s not in our hands.”
LOSSES
IT WAS JUST AFTER five-thirty when Fokir nudged his boat out of the creek’s mouth. Although the wind had stiffened, Piya took heart from the fact that the sky was clear for the most part. And in the beginning the wind and the waves were more a help than a hindrance, pushing the boat in the direction they wanted to go, so it was like having extra pairs of hands to help with the rowing. Piya had her back to the bow, so at the outset, when the wind was behind them, she was able to watch the waves as they advanced on the boat from the rear. At this point they were just undulations on the water’s surface and there was no foam on their crests — they swept up quietly from behind the boat, raising the stern and then dropping it again before moving on.
After half an hour Piya took a reading of their position and was reassured by the result. If they managed to keep up the pace, she calculated they would be back at Garjontola in a couple of hours — probably before the storm broke.
But as the minutes crept by, the wind kept strengthening and the dark stain in the sky seemed to spread faster and faster. Their route, in any case, was a circuitous one, involving many changes of direction. Every time