Flood of Fire by Amitav Ghosh Page A

and other military men; thousands of them would converge on the shrine, along with hordes of naked Naga sadhus who came there from distant points in the Indian subcontinent. The festival was considered particularly auspicious for new recruits so it was arranged that Kesri’s brother, Bhim, would wait till it was over before leaving for Delhi with his cousin.
    That year Kesri was in the open competition for the first time and much was expected of him. But his brother’s imminent departure, and the prospect of his indefinite detainment in the village, had so demoralized Kesri that he lost quite early, dashing the hopes of his guruji. This added to his misery and the next day he was scarcely able to drag himself out of bed. For once his father took pity on him and let him off from going to the fields.
    Since Bhim was soon to depart for Delhi, this became an occasion for the family to gather in the angaan in front of their dwelling. Their mother sent out snacks, sweetmeats and sharbat while everyone lounged on charpoys in the shade of the mango tree.
    Around mid-morning, as they were savouring the treats, a horse-cart was spotted in the distance, wheeling up the path that led to their straw-thatched home. Soon enough it became clear that the men in the carts were strangers. The food was swept away and the girls were sent inside. Ram Singh went to greet the visitors himself, with Kesri and Bhim on either side.
    The first man to step out of the cart was of impressive, even intimidating appearance. His chest was as deep as a battle-drum and his hands were big enough to cover a brass thali. His upturned moustache glistened with wax, and his skin, which was the colour of ripening wheat, was burnished to a glow with mustard oil. Everything about his appearance and his manner – the taut mound of his belly, the heavy gold rings that dangled from his ears, the richly embroidered shawl around his shoulders – spoke of expensive tastes and voracious appetites. He gave his name as Bhyro Singh and said his village was near the town of Ghazipur, some sixty miles to the west of Nayanpur.
    This put Ram Singh on his guard. The people of the area around Ghazipur were known to have close links with the British because many of them were employed by the Company’s opium factory. But Bhyro Singh did not look like a factory worker. Even though he was not in uniform, Ram Singh sensed that he belonged to the East India Company’s army. Nor was he mistaken: the visitor soon explained that he was a havildar in the ist battalion of the 25th Regiment of the Bengal Native Infantry – the famous ‘Pacheesi’. The three men who were with him were sepoys from his own battalion; they were on their way to join their paltan and had decided to stop at the Naga sadhus’ mela before proceeding to the regimental base at Barrackpore, near Calcutta. He had come, he said, to discuss a matter of some importance.
    It turned out that Bhyro Singh was a recruiter who had heard of Kesri’s prowess as a wrestler; he had come in the hope of persuading him to join the East India Company’s army. When Ram Singh said that Kesri was not available for recruitment Bhyro Singh was taken aback; he was even more surprised when he learnt that his brother, Bhim, was soon to leave for Delhi to join the Mughal Badshah’s army.
    But why, Ram Singhji? Bhyro Singh protested. The boy is young and you are his father. You should explain to him that Delhi is not what it used to be; a soldier who wants to rise in the world needs to go to the East India Company’s capital – Calcutta. There is no army in Hindustan that can match the terms offered by the British.
    How so?
    This prompted Bhyro Singh to launch into a detailed listing of the advantages of the Bengal Native Infantry: while the basic pay might not be higher than in other armies – just six rupees a month – what counted was that the money was always delivered in full and on