The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [81]
At the end of the brief tour, I clasped my guide’s hand: “Destiny is on your side, comrade.”
He smiled and said, “But still, we cannot succeed without help.”
It was clear at once that he was thinking of all the ways in which I might be of use to him. This impressed me. It was a good sign, I thought, that he was applying his mind in this practical way.
“I want to be of help,” I said. “Tell me what I can do.”
“That depends,” he said. “What’s most important to us at this time is to mobilize public opinion, to bring pressure on the government, to get them to leave us alone. They’re putting it out that we’re destroying this place; they want people to think we’re gangsters who’ve occupied this place by force. We need to let people know what we’re doing and why we’re here. We have to tell the world about all we’ve done and all we’ve achieved. Can you help us with this? Do you have contacts with the press in Calcutta?”
I didn’t begrudge him his attitude; it seemed to me he was right to take this approach. “There was a time once,” I said regretfully, “when I knew people in the press. But no more.”
“Then do you know anyone with power? Policemen? Forest rangers? Politicians?”
“No,” I said. “No one.”
“Then what can you do for us?” he said, growing peevish. “Of what use could you be?”
What use indeed, was I? There are people in this world who are truly useful, who lead useful lives: Nilima for instance. But a schoolteacher such as me?
“There’s only one thing I know to do,” I said. “And that is to teach.”
“Teach?” I could see he was struggling to suppress a smile. “What could you teach here?”
“I could teach your children about this place that you’ve come to, the tide country. I have time — I am soon to retire.”
He lost interest in me. “Our children here have no time to waste,” he said. “Most of them have to help their families find food to eat.” Then, after a little more thought, he added, “However, if you can find pupils who’re willing, then why should I prevent you? It’s up to you: teach all you want.”
I went back to Kusum triumphantly and told her what had transpired. In evident alarm, she said, “But whom will you teach, Saar?”
“Why?” I said. “There’s your son, Fokir. There must be others like him. Mustn’t there?” A look of reluctance had come into her face, so I added, almost pleading, “It wouldn’t be every day. Maybe just for a little while each week. I’ll come over from Lusibari.”
“But Saar,” she said, “Fokir can’t write or read, and that’s true of many of these children. What will you teach them?”
I hadn’t given this matter any thought, but the answer came to me at once. I said, “Kusum, I’ll teach them to dream.”
PURSUED
WHILE THE DOLPHIN and its calf foraged in the creek, Fokir was fighting hard to hold his boat steady in the adjoining channel. The water was flowing fast here and he was turning the boat around in circles so that Piya could keep the dolphins in view. Even though there was no wind, the water’s surface was so densely marked with ripples and eddies that it seemed almost to be simmering as it flowed.
Having filled in six data sheets, Piya decided to measure the water’s depth. She was in the bow, as usual, while Fokir was in the midsection, turning rapidly from left to right as he dipped his oars alternately on either side of the boat. He happened to look up just as Piya was lowering her depth sounder into the water. His eyes flared and he uttered a shout that made her freeze, with her wrist still submerged beneath the surface. Pulling his oars into the boat, Fokir threw himself at Piya, diving forward, snatching wildly at her wrist. Piya fell over backward and her arm snapped out of the water, catapulting the depth sounder over the boat.
Suddenly the water boiled over and a pair of huge jaws came shooting out of the river, breaking the surface exactly where Piya’s wrist had been a moment before. From the corner of one eye, Piya saw two sets of interlocking