The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [28]
The compound of the Badabon Trust was at the rounded end of the conch-shaped island, half a mile from Lusibari village. Nilima lived there in a small building that doubled as a guest house for the Trust’s visitors.
It took a while for Kanai and Nilima to make their way to this end of the island. They had disembarked on the mudspit, near Lusibari village, and by the time they departed for the Trust’s compound, it was near sunset. The vehicle that had been arranged for their transport was new to Kanai — there had been none on the island at the time of his last visit. It was a cycle-van, a bicycle-trolley with a square platform mounted behind the driver’s saddle. The platform served to carry luggage and livestock as well as passengers, who sat on it either with their legs folded or with their feet dangling over the edge. Since the platform was flat, with no handholds, passengers had to cling on as best they could. When the vehicle hit a bump or a pothole, they locked arms to hold each other in place.
“Are you sure we’ll all fit on that?” said Kanai dubiously, eyeing the vehicle.
“Yes, of course,” said Nilima. “Just get on and we’ll hold you down.”
They set off with Kanai’s suitcase lodged among baskets of vegetables and squawking clutches of fowl. The van turned onto a path paved with uncemented bricks, many of which had come loose, leaving gaps in the track’s surface. When the wheels hit these holes, the platform flew up as if to catapult its passengers from the vehicle. Kanai would have gone rocketing off if the others hadn’t kept him in place by holding on to his shirt.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable in our Guest House,” said Nilima anxiously. “Our setup is very simple, so don’t expect any luxuries. A room’s been prepared for you and your dinner should be waiting in a tiffin carrier. I’ve told one of our trainee nurses to make arrangements for your food. If you need anything, just let her know. Her name is Moyna — she should be there now, waiting for us.”
At the mention of the name, the van’s driver corkscrewed around in his seat. “Mashima, are you talking about Moyna Mandol?”
“Yes.”
“But you won’t find her at the Guest House, Mashima,” the driver said. “Haven’t you heard yet?”
“What?”
“Moyna’s husband, that fellow Fokir, has gone missing again. And he’s taken the boy too — their son. Moyna’s running all over the place asking after them.”
“No! Is that true?”
“Yes.” A couple of other passengers confirmed this with vigorous nods.
Mashima clicked her tongue. “Poor Moyna. That fellow gives her so much trouble.”
Kanai had been listening to this exchange and, on seeing the look of consternation on Mashima’s face, said, “Will this upset all the arrangements?”
“No,” said Mashima. “We’ll manage one way or the other. I’m just worried about Moyna. That husband of hers is going to drive her mad one day.”
“Who is he? Her husband, I mean.”
“You won’t know him —” Breaking off in midsentence, Nilima clutched at Kanai’s arm. “Wait! Actually you do know him — not him, I mean, but his mother.”
“His mother?”
“Yes. Do you remember a girl called Kusum?”
“Of course,” said Kanai. “Of course I remember her. She was the only friend I had in this place.”
Nilima gave a slow nod. “Yes,” she said. “I remember now: you two used to play together. Anyway, this man we’re talking about — Fokir? He’s Kusum’s son. He’s married to Moyna.”
“Is he the one who’s missing?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“And what about Kusum? What became of her?”
Nilima let out a deep sigh. “She ran off, Kanai; it must have been some months after you visited us. For years we didn’t have any news of her, but then she showed up again. It was very unfortunate.”
“Why? What happened?”
Nilima closed her eyes as if to shut out the memory. “She was killed.”
“How?”
“I’ll tell you later,” said Nilima in an undertone. “Not now.”
“And her son?” Kanai persisted. “How old was he when Kusum died?”
“He was just a child,” Nilima