The Hungry Tide. Amitav Ghosh

why he was already a father of three while still in his teens.

      As for Kusum, she was a girl from his village, a fifteen-year-old, whom he had put into the care of the Women’s Union in Lusibari. Her father had died while foraging for firewood and her mother, without other means of support, had been forced to look for a job in the city. ‘It wasn’t safe for her on her own,’ Nilima had said. ‘All kinds of people tried to take advantage of her. Someone was even trying to sell her off. If Horen hadn’t rescued her who knows what might have happened?’

      This had piqued Kanai’s interest. ‘Why?’ he had said. ‘What might have happened?’

      Nilima’s eyes had grown sad, as they tended to do when she was reminded of those of the world’s ills she was powerless to remedy. ‘She might have been forced to lose her self-respect and honour; it happens often enough to poor girls who’re caught in that kind of situation.’

      ‘Oh?’ For all his precocity Kanai was unable to unravel the precise implications of Nilima’s euphemisms – yet he had understood enough of their meaning for his breath to quicken.

      ‘And where is this girl now?’ he had said.

      ‘In Lusibari,’ Nilima had replied. ‘You’ll meet her. Our Women’s Union is still looking after her.’

      The conversation had ended, Kanai remembered, with his sprinting up the embankment to stand beside Nirmal. Kanai had scanned the river with eager eyes, looking for Horen’s boat. Till then the prospect of going to Lusibari had inspired nothing other than bored resentment, but the prospect of meeting this Kusum was something to look forward to.

       The Launch

      Deep in the interior of Canning’s bazaar Piya had come to a halt at the gates of the Forest Department’s offices. Because of the circumstances of her work she had, over the years, developed a reluctant familiarity with the officialdom of forests and fisheries. She had been expecting a grimy bureaucratic honeycomb and was taken aback to find herself looking at a small, brightly painted bungalow. Still, before stepping up to the entrance she steeled herself for what promised to be a very long day.

      As it turned out, her experience was not quite as grim as she had anticipated. It did indeed take a full hour of waiting before she could even make her way past the first doorkeeper, but once she was inside her progress was unexpectedly swift. Thanks to her uncle’s influence, she was led almost immediately into the presence of a harried but obliging senior ranger. After a polite exchange she was handed over to a subordinate, who led her down a number of corridors, through cubicles of diminishing size. In between were long intervals of drinking tea, waiting, and staring at walls blotched with red paan-stains. But, apace or not, the paperwork did proceed and within a mere four hours of her entry into the building she was in possession of all the necessary documents.

      It was only then, just as she was about to march out of the office, giddy with joy at her triumph, that she learnt that the procedures weren’t quite over yet – the last remaining requirement for her survey was that she be accompanied by a forest guard. Her face fell in dismay for she knew from previous experience that official escorts were always a hindrance and sometimes needed more attention than the survey itself; she would have far preferred to travel on her own, with only a boatman or pilot for company. But it was quickly made clear that this was not an option. In fact, a guard had already been assigned to her, a man who knew the route and would help with the hiring of a boat and all the other arrangements. She dropped the matter without further demur. It was good enough that she had got her papers so quickly – better not try her luck too far.

      The guard, dressed in a starched khaki uniform, proved to be a small ferret-faced man. He greeted her with a deferential smile and his appearance provided no cause for misgiving – not until he produced a leather bandolier and a rifle. The sight of the weapons induced her to make her way back down the corridors to ask if the gun was really necessary. The answer was yes, it was; regulations required it because her route would take her through the tiger reserve. There was always the possibility of an attack.

      There was nothing more to be said. Shouldering her backpacks, she followed the guard out of the bungalow.

      They had not gone far before the guard’s demeanour began to change. Where he had been almost obsequious before, he now became quite officious, herding her ahead without any explanation of where they were going or why. In a short while she found herself at a teashop on the embankment, meeting with a man of vaguely thuggish appearance. The man’s name, so far as she could tell, was Mej-da: he was squat of build and there were many shiny chains and amulets hanging beneath his large, fleshy face. Neither he nor the guard spoke English but it was explained to her through intermediaries that Mej-da owned a launch that was available for hire: he was a seasoned guide who knew the area better than anyone else.

      She asked to see the launch and was told that that would not be possible – it was anchored some distance away and they would have to take a boat to get to it. On inquiring about the price she was quoted a clearly excessive figure. She knew now that this was a set-up and she was being cheated. She made a desultory effort to find other boat-owners, but the sight of Mej-da and the guard scared them off. No one would approach her.

      At this point she knew she was faced with a choice. She could either go back to lodge a complaint at the Forest Department’s office or agree to the proposed arrangement and get started on her survey. After having spent most of the day in that office, she could not bear to think of returning. She gave in and agreed to hire Mej-da’s launch.

      On the way to the launch, remorse set in. Perhaps she was judging these men too harshly? Perhaps they really did possess great funds of local knowledge? In any event, there was no harm in seeing if they could be of help. In one of her backpacks she had a display card she had chosen especially for this survey. It pictured the two species of river dolphin known to inhabit these waters – the Gangetic dolphin and the Irrawaddy dolphin. The drawings were copied from a monograph that dated back to 1878. They were not the best or most lifelike pictures she had ever come across (she knew of innumerable more accurate or more realistic photographs and diagrams), but for some reason she’d always had good luck with these drawings: they seemed to make the animals more recognizable than other, more realistic representations.

      In the past, on other rivers, display cards like these had sometimes been of great help in gathering information. When communication was possible, she would show them to fishermen and boatmen and ask questions about sightings, abundance, behaviour, seasonal distribution and so on. When there was no one to translate she would hold up the cards and wait for a response. This often worked; they would recognize the animal and point her to places where they were commonly seen. But as a rule only the most observant and experienced fishermen were able to make the connection between the pictures and the animals they represented. Relatively few had ever seen the whole, living creature, and their view of it was generally restricted to a momentary glimpse of a blowhole or a dorsal fin. This being so, it was not unusual for the cards to elicit unexpected reactions – but never before had this illustration provoked a response as strange as the one she got from Mej-da. First he turned the card around and looked at the picture upside down. Then, pointing to the illustration of the Gangetic dolphin he asked if it were a bird. She understood him because he used the English word: ‘Bird? Bird?’

      Piya was so startled that she looked at the picture again, with fresh eyes, wondering what he might be thinking of. The mystery was resolved when he stabbed a finger at the animal’s long snout with its twin rows of needle-like teeth. Like an optical illusion, the picture seemed to change shape as she looked at it; she had the feeling that she was looking at it through his eyes. She understood how the mistake might be possible, given the animal’s plump, dove-like body and its spoon-shaped bill, not unlike a heron’s. And of course the Gangetic dolphin had no dorsal fin to speak of. But then the ludicrousness of the notion had hit her – the Gangetic dolphin a bird? She took the card back and put it away quickly, turning her face aside to hide her smile.

      The smile lingered for the rest of the ride, vanishing