As Belo Diabo sailed towards Bengal, Madeline sat on a stool in the kitchen. A ship’s kitchen is not a place of pleasant odours or posh company nor is it suitable for haute couture silk taffeta gowns of mauve like the one she was wearing, but alas, there were no other places to go or people to meet. Madeline wore her gown with dignity to keep it from growing mouldy in her trunk as she grilled Abdul for clues.
‘Tell me about Chatgaon?’ she asked. A manufactured dispassion rested on her lips concealing her true machinations.
Abdul was peeling potatoes. ‘Chatgaon is uninhabitable jungle,’ he replied. ‘Home of the Maghs.’
‘The Maghs?’ asked Madeline.
‘Ferocious slave traders,’ said Abdul.
This was alarming.
‘Not to worry,’ said Abdul chuckling. ‘Subedar Khan cleaned up Chatgaon twenty years ago. It was his first assignment in Bengal. In one year, he did what Shah Shuja failed to do in a lifetime. He liberated the island of Sandip from Magh warriors, stopped the Portuguese pirates from plundering the rivers of Bengal and established complete order and peace.’
Abdul paused to select a potato, stalling long enough to elicit a prompt from Madeline.
‘How?’ she asked.
Abdul wiped his brow with the chequered cloth slung around his neck. His eyes took on the special glow reserved for storytelling.
‘It was 1665. The Subedar arrived as Mughal Viceroy to Bengal and began building a covert fleet of 200 ships in the dock yards of Tanti Bazaar. He won the support of the Dutch and with his own wealth, he armed his men.’
‘His own wealth?’ Madeline asked. ‘Is he very wealthy?’
Abdul snorted. ‘Only the wealthiest man in Hindustan. Perhaps the world?’
‘How much wealth exactly is that?’ asked Madeline, notebook ready.
‘He lives an ostentatious life, dresses in grandeur, throws fantastical parties, and the rest. And why not? He has a monopoly over all trade,’ explained Abdul. ‘They say, his daily income is 2 lakh rupees of which he spends half and distributes half to the needy.’
‘Sacred bleu!’ exclaimed Madeline, scribbling furiously. ‘Is he a philanthropist?’
Abdul laughed, bearing his discoloured teeth. ‘I don’t think anyone has ever referred to him as that. His temper is as fierce as a monsoon. Those who enter his durbar know not if they will leave dead or alive. He is a skilled statesman, a cunning warlord and a shrewd entrepreneur. He can anticipate the enemy’s next move before it has been conceived. How else did we win Chatgaon?’
‘How?’
‘Strategic acumen,’ said Abdul. ‘He sent his son, Aqidat, with a flotilla of ships along Karnafuli river, and his other son, Buzurg Umid, with an expedition of 6,500 foot soldiers through the steamy jungles of the coastal corridor. They hacked with axes through the desolate wilderness from Feni to the Chatgaon hinterlands, braving tigers and rain!’
‘Tigers?’ A shiver ran down Madeline’s spine.
Abdul yanked on his red beard. ‘The Subedar’s mansabdars were old men, not fearsome savages like the Maghs. The night before the battle, the Subedar made them dye their white beards with henna and this little trick worked. The flaming red beards frightened the Maghs. From a distance, they thought demons with fire on their chins were attacking them. I’ve been dyeing ever since.’
Madeline jotted the peculiar fact into her notebook. Perhaps the women in France would like this style. She would talk to the Compagnie des Indes Orientales. Perhaps she could supply them with henna for a profit.
‘Did you meet the Subedar?’ she asked.
Abdul nodded. ‘My father was a Portuguese pirate. I have lived my whole life on a ship. The Portuguese historically hated Mughals but a month before the battle of Sandip, in an astounding reversal of fate, the Subedar won the friendship of a gun-toting Portuguese sea captain and changed the course of history!’
‘Captain Costa?’
‘Indeed!’ Abdul wet his lips and the story spilled out. ‘The Portuguese were a menace: sailing up the Ganges raiding Jessore, Hooghly and Bhushna, sailing down Brahmaputra, raping and pillaging Bikrampur, Sonargaon and Dacca, buying kidnapped people from Maghs to sell as slaves in Europe.
‘Captain Costa was one of them, the terror of Bengal Bay. He preyed on merchant ships sailing in or out. One such ship belonged to the East India Company, laden with treasures for Europe. Captain Costa smelt the opportunity and navigated an ambush. He moved in close and launched three cannon balls onto the stern.
‘He did not know that the ship was protected. An English Man-of-War armed with 24 canons suddenly rounded a bend in the river and blasted canons at him. One struck the deck and his crew were left bailing out buckets to keep from sinking. Just when they thought it was over, Subedar Khan came to their rescue with a 48 cannon Man-of-War.
‘On the prowl to rid his waters of thieves, he had been tracking the English warship unbeknownst to them. The English found themselves outmanoeuvred. In hours, their warship was sunk and the merchant vessel captured. Imperial soldiers and pirates fought side by side, killing English sailors, confiscating the booty: diamonds, pearls, spices and silks. The Subedar split the spoils with the pirates, sealing a solid friendship. Nothing brings two men closer together than a common enemy.
‘Weeks later, when the Subedar attacked Sandip, Captain Costa joined the battle, leading the fight from the Bay. In three days, the Arakanese Maghs were massacred and the citadel was conquered. Chatgaon was declared a Mughal sarkar and the Subedar released thousands of Bengali peasants who had been enslaved.’
‘What happened to the Maghs?’
‘He decapitated them. Impaled their heads on bamboo. You could smell it for miles, an unbroken coastline dotted with thousands of crucified Maghs rotting in the sun. Boys and men alike. I remember it as though it were yesterday.’ He shuddered.
The Subedar sounded as barbaric as the Maghs. ‘And Captain Costa?’ she asked, quaking.
‘He became the most pampered pirate in the Empire. The Subedar had navy ships escort him in and out of the Bay, even fought off other pirates from Arabia and Africa on his behalf! Captain Costa traded with Bengal for a full ten years before he grew bored of the merchant life and went back to hunting for treasure around the world. He has sixteen ships, you know?’
Madeline rotated the quill in her fingers, amused. So Costa was not only a firebrand thief but also an affluent merchant and his friend, the Subedar, was not only a cruel warlord but also a millionaire. This presented new opportunities. Perhaps she could seduce one of them, or at least get introduced to one of their friends, a minor Raja of some small subha. How nice that would be? Wealthy people were never lonely.