twenty-one

The voyage to Calcutta took almost a fortnight. The city lay on the east bank of the Hoogly; the newly built Fort William gave the place a distinguished air. It was a warm Calcutta evening when Rama and Mohan got down at Tolly’s Nala, from where the fort was less than half an hour’s ride. As they drew closer and the walls grew larger, a feeling of disquiet grew within both of them. The massive structure in front of them looked practically impregnable.

They had barely got within a hundred yards of the fort when Mohan stopped.

‘What is it?’ Rama asked his companion.

‘Rama, there is no way we can get inside.’

Rama looked at the fort and paused, taking it all in. It was an awesome sight, especially if one was planning to break in. Standing almost two hundred feet tall, the lotus-shaped structure dominated the view. It was surrounded by a deep, wide moat that was, at present, mercifully empty.

They rode alongside for a while, discreetly, and discussed what they could do about getting in.

‘We could do what I did at Fort St. George,’ Rama suggested. ‘You could stay back and I could do it alone. That way, if I got caught, you could come in and get me.’

Mohan looked at his friend wordlessly for a moment. ‘Are you out of your mind? I’m not letting that happen again.’

They stood in silence for a while, watching the traffic that went in and out of the six gates. Suddenly, a thought struck Rama. ‘Let us follow that cart,’ he said, pointing to a large bullock cart that had just come out of one of the gates. ‘I have an idea.’

The cart weaved in and out of the traffic, down the road that led away from the eastern gate, and turned left onto the much larger Chowringee road. Rama and Mohan followed discreetly, without arousing any curiosity. The cart went past the old Fort William, down the Strand Road, turned into Cotton Street and stopped at a public house. The driver tied the bullocks up to a tree before going in, and Rama and Mohan followed him.

They entered a big round room, with a counter serving alcohol across the room. There were several tables arranged all over, and it took them a while before they found the driver in the crowd. Rama approached his table and stood there with Mohan behind him. The driver and his companion looked up, and Rama and Mohan immediately smiled at them. They smiled back, so the two friends sat at the table. Rama nudged Mohan and whispered in his ear, ‘Let me do the talking.’

‘Sure,’ Mohan said. ‘But what language will you speak to them in?’

‘I think my best bet is Sanskrit. I’m sure they will understand at least some of it.’

The driver and his friend were talking animatedly among themselves, and ignoring Rama and Mohan. They had no drinks before them, so when the waiter arrived Rama ordered himself and Mohan a rice beer each before he turned to the other two and asked in his most chaste Sanskrit, ‘Excuse me, have the two of you ordered drinks?’

The two stared uncomprehendingly at Rama, who indicated with signs that they should order drinks. The driver replied in barely intelligible Sanskrit that he would be happy to.

Rama asked, ‘Do you both drink rice beer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Four rice beers please,’ Rama told the waiter. He then turned to the driver and his companion and informed them, ‘My wife just gave birth to a boy. This is my treat.’

‘Thank you,’ they said simultaneously, smiling. ‘My name is Ashutosh,’ the driver continued, ‘and this is Rabindra.’

‘Rama, and this is my friend Mohan.’

‘Where are you from?’ Rabindra asked him.

Rama paused for an instant. He realized that even with his clear Sanskrit there was no doubt that his companions knew they were foreigners. He cleared his throat and responded, ‘We are from Madras.’

‘Have you moved here?’ asked Rabindra.

‘Oh no,’ Rama replied. ‘We are weapons’ salesmen. See,’ he continued. ‘These are samples of our work.’ And so saying, he took out a sword and a dagger from the bag.

Ashutosh examined the blades with the trained eye of an expert. ‘Did you make these?’ He asked.

‘Yes. Would you like to buy one?’

Ashutosh handed them back, smiling, ‘No, thank you.’

‘Genuine Telenga steel,’ Rama explained. ‘The blade will never rust.’

They had found common ground. The four men discussed blades and battles animatedly and drank late into the night. Rama learnt that Ashutosh plied on two routes daily. One was at six every morning carrying fish to the market, and the other was at four every evening carrying oats to Fort William. He collected the oats at eight in the morning from the marketplace and kept them in his cart till he left at two-thirty in the afternoon.

When it was finally time to close down the place, Rama and Mohan managed to convince an inebriated Ashutosh to let them stay at his house for the night. Stewed to the gills, he agreed readily. He was a bachelor and saw no reason why they couldn’t sleep on his floor. He apologized that he had nothing better, but he would provide them with pillows and sheets.

Rama and Mohan got into the cart with Ashutosh and Rabindra who got down on Amherst Street. Ashutosh gave directions to his house, a one-room establishment with a kitchen. He informed his guests that the toilet and wash area were at the back. He then opened up a large trunk that stood next to the kitchen door and took out two sheets and two pillows which he tossed to Rama and Mohan before taking out a large roll of bedding and spreading it out on the floor. He then lay down and promptly went to sleep.

The friends stayed up late that night, planning their next move. By the time they fell asleep, they felt a lot better than they had after their first glimpse of the fort—they had a plan.

The next morning, they awoke with their host, and were ready to leave before he was. After thanking him profusely for his hospitality and steadfastly refusing his offer of a ride to the docks, they went off in search of breakfast.