The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [180]
“I’ll be back soon, though,” Piya had said, and Nilima had replied, with hearty goodwill, “Yes, my dear, of course you will.”
But Piya’s valediction was not an unfamiliar one; Nilima had heard the same words often before, on the lips of many well-meaning foreign visitors. None of them had ever been seen or heard from again, so it was not without reason that Nilima had assumed that the same would be true of Piya. But now here she was, just as she had said.
THE KNOCK SOUNDED before Nilima had had the time to properly prepare herself. She could think of nothing to say except “Piya! You’re back.”
“Yes,” said Piya matter-of-factly. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”
This was, of course, exactly what Nilima had thought, so she was quick to change the subject. “So tell me then, Piya, where did you go off to?” The girl had bought herself some new clothes, she noticed: Piya was dressed, as before, in a white shirt and cotton pants.
“I went to Kolkata,” Piya said. “I stayed with my aunt and spent a lot of time on the Internet. You’ll be glad to know there was a terrific response.”
“Response? To what?”
“I sent out some letters explaining what happened during the cyclone and how Fokir had died. Some of my friends and colleagues took up the cause and circulated a chain letter to raise money for Moyna and Tutul. The response was better than we’d expected. The money’s not as much as I’d have liked, but it’s something: it’ll buy them a house of their own and maybe even provide a college education for Tutul.”
“Oh?” said Nilima, sitting up. “I’m glad to hear that, very glad indeed. I’m sure Moyna will be too.”
“But that’s not all,” said Piya.
“Really?” Nilima raised her eyebrows. “What else have you been up to?”
“I wrote up a report,” said Piya, “on my dolphin sightings in this area. It was very impressionistic, of course, since I’d lost all my data, but it sparked a lot of interest. I’ve had several offers of funding from conservation and environmental groups. But I didn’t want to go ahead without talking to you first.”
“Me?” cried Nilima. “What do I know about such matters?”
“You know a lot about the people who live here,” Piya said. “And for myself, I don’t want to do the kind of work that places the burden of conservation on those who can least afford it. If I was to take on a project here, I’d want it to be under the sponsorship of the Badabon Trust, so the local fishermen would be involved. And the Trust would benefit too. We’d share the funding.”
At the mention of funding, Nilima, ever pragmatic, began to pay closer attention. “Well, it’s certainly worth a thought,” she said, biting her lip. “But, Piya, have you considered the practical aspect of this? For instance, where would you live?”
Piya nodded. “I have an idea for that too,” she said. “I want to run it by you, to see what you think.”
“Go on.”
“I thought, if you were agreeable, that maybe I’d rent the upper floor of this house from you — the Guest House, in other words. I could really set myself up there, with computers and a small office. I’d need an office to keep track of the funds.”
Nilima smiled indulgently. Having had long experience in administration, she could tell that Piya had no idea of what she was getting into. “But, Piya,” she said gently, “to start something on that scale you’d need a staff, you’d need people to help. You can’t do it on your own.”
“Yes, I know,” Piya said. “I’ve thought about that too. My idea was that Moyna would manage that end of things — part-time of course, when she’s not on duty at the hospital. It would give her an additional source of income, and I’m sure she’d be able to handle the work. And it would be good for me too. She could maybe teach me some Bangla in exchange for some English.”
Nilima twisted her hands together, frowning, trying to anticipate every possible objection to