heads of houses were at their banquets, their employees too, would throw parties of their own, in which food and drink flowed just as freely as at the tables of their bosses (and were indeed often obtained from the same kitchens and parlours). Afterwards, they would stroll around the waterfront, comparing the merits of the entertainments that were on offer in the various hongs – and it was not unusual for them to conclude that they had contrived to entertain themselves with far greater success than their supposed superiors.
Vico’s connections in Fanqui-town were no less impressive than Bahram’s: he knew people in every factory and was often out till the small hours of the morning. His love of food and liquor were legendary in the Achha Hong and no one liked to boast about it more than he himself: he was one of those men whose pretensions consist only of exaggerating the grossness of their own instincts and appetites; to listen to him was to imagine that he liked nothing better than to spend his days in bed, eating, drinking, farting and fornicating.
So consistent was his description of this fictional self that it took Neel a while to understand that Vico was, in some ways, the opposite of what he pretended to be: industrious, energetic, a faithful husband and a devout Catholic. That he was also a man of many resources, endowed with all kinds of unexpected affiliations, was made apparent only through throwaway remarks and references – for example to his connection with Father Gonsalo Garcia, the East Indian missionary who had been crucified near Nagasaki, in Japan, along with a number of other Catholics, including five other members of the Franciscan order. The martyr had been beatified by Pope Urban VIII and in his birthplace he was already venerated as a soon-to-be saint: as it happened, this was none other than Vico’s own village – Bassein, near Bombay – and his was one of several local families who were reputed to be distantly related to the family of the venerable friar.
Because of their network of co-religionists, in rural China, members of the Catholic missionary orders were often extremely well informed about what was happening in the country: some of them occasionally visited Canton, to tend to the needs of the Catholics of the foreign enclave, and despite their reputation for secrecy, they were not impervious to the magic of Vico’s charmed connections.
Vico’s connections were often useful to Neel too, for apart from note- and letter-writing, the most important part of his job was khabar-dari – news-gathering. Through his first few weeks in Canton, Neel despaired of being able to cater to the Seth’s insatiable appetite for news. Knowing no one in the city, and possessing no sources of news other than the Canton Register and the Chinese Repository he was reduced to scouring old issues in the hope of finding something of interest to report. Of the two publications, the Repository was the more scholarly, the bulk of it being dedicated to long articles on subjects like the habits of scaly anteaters and witchcraft among the Malays. Such matters were of no interest to Bahram: he had as much scorn for abstractions as for useless facts.
‘Don’t want any bloody professory, understood, munshiji? News, news, news, that’s all. No bloody “hereuntos” and “thereunders”: just the khabar. Samjoed?’
The Canton Register was both newsy and polemical, and was therefore of more interest to Bahram, especially because the editor, John Slade, was also a regular at the Chamber of Commerce. But this meant that he was often aware of the Register’s contents even before they saw print.
‘Munshiji,’ the Seth would snap irritatedly, ‘why you are telling me all this stale news? If I ask for milk will you give me curds?’
Sometimes, taking pity on Neel, Vico would hand over things that he knew would be of interest to the Seth. It was thus that Neel was able to announce one morning: Sethji, I have something you will want to hear.
What is it?
Sethji, it is a memorial submitted to the Son of Heaven. The Register has published a translation. I thought you would want to know about it, because it is a discussion of how to put a stop to the opium trade.
Oh? said Bahram. All right. Start then.
‘ “From the moment of opium first gaining an influx into China, your majesty’s benevolent grandfather, known as the Wise, foresaw the injury that it would produce; and therefore he earnestly warned and cautioned men against it, and passed a law interdicting it. But at that time his ministers did not imagine that its poisonous effects would pervade China to the present extent. In earlier times, the use of opium was confined to the pampered sons of fortune, with whom it became an idle luxury. But since then its use has extended upwards to the officers and the belted gentry, and downwards to the labourer and the tradesman, and even to women, monks, nuns and priests. In every place its inhalers are to be found and the implements required for smoking it are sold publicly in the face of day. Its importation from abroad is constantly on the increase. Anchored off Lintin and other islands, are special vessels for the storage of opium. They never pass the Bocca Tigris or enter the river, but depraved merchants of Kwangtung, in collusion with the militia, send boats called ‘scrambling dragons’ and ‘fast-crabs’ to carry silver out to sea and smuggle the opium into the realm. In this way the country is drained to the annual amount of thirty million taels of silver and upwards. The value of the legitimate trade, in the import of woollens, clocks and watches, and the export of tea, rhubarb and silk, is less than ten million taels annually and the profit from it does not exceed a few millions. The total value of the legitimate trade is therefore not a tenth or twentieth part of the gains derived from the opium traffic. It is evident from this that the chief interest of the foreign merchants is not in the legal trade, but in the trafficking of opium. This outpouring of wealth from China has become a dangerous sickness and your ministers cannot see where it will end…” ’
Suddenly, pushing his food away, Bahram rose to his feet. Who has written this?
A senior wazir of the court, Sethji.
Bahram began to pace the room: All right; go on. What else does he say?
Sethji, he is discussing the different proposals for stopping the flow of opium to China.
What are they?
One suggestion is to blockade all Chinese ports, to prevent foreign ships from entering or doing business.
What does he say about that?
Sethji, he says this method would not work.
‘Why not?’
Because China’s coast is too long, Sethji, and it is impossible to close it off completely. The foreigners have established close connections with Chinese traders and officials, he says, and because there is so much money to be made, there is sure to be a lot of corruption. The officials will collaborate with the merchants in finding ways of bringing opium into China.
Hah! Bahram began to stroke his beard as he paced. Go on. What else does he say?
Another proposal is to stop all trade and all interactions with foreign merchants. But this too, he says, will not work.
And why is that?
Because the foreign ships will merely gather offshore, and their Chinese associates will send out fast-boats to smuggle in the opium. This method has no chance of success, he says.
Bahram came to a stop beside the bowl in which the daftar’s goggle-eyed goldfish circled endlessly in pursuit of the streaming ribbons of its tail.
So what is his own suggestion? What does he want the Court to do?
It seems, Sethji, that the Chinese officials have been making a study of how the Europeans deal with opium. They have found that in their own countries, the Europeans are very strict about limiting its circulation. They sell the drug freely only when they travel east, and to those people whose lands and wealth they covet. He cites, as an example, the island of Java; he says that the Europeans gave opium to the Javanese and seduced them into the use of it, so that they could be easily overpowered, and that is exactly what happened. It is because they know of its potency that the Europeans are very careful to keep opium under control in their own countries, not flinching from the sternest measures and harshest punishments. This, he says, is what China must do too. He proposes that all opium smokers be given one year to reform. And if after that they are found still to be using, or dealing, in the drug, then it should be treated as a capital crime.
What does he mean by that?
The death penalty, Sethji: mawt ki saza; everyone who uses the drug or deals in it, he says, should be sentenced to death.
The Seth gave a snort of disbelief: ‘What kind of bakwaas you are talking? Must be some mistake.’ He came stalking over to Neel and looked over his shoulder. Where is all this? Show me.
Here, Sethji. Holding the journal open, Neel rose to his feet, to show Bahram some passages that he had marked.
