'Go on then!' urged the mate. 'Do it, Jackin-ape. Never let yer prick or yer purse fail ye, as the cockqueans say.'

Closing his eyes, Ah Fatt turned his face to the sky and squeezed out a thin trickle of urine over Neel.

'That's the barber, Jackin-ape!' cried the mate, slapping his thigh triumphantly. 'Won me my wager, y'did.' He extended his hand towards the subedar, who duly placed a coin in it while muttering a word of congratulation: 'Mubarak malum-sahib!'

In the meanwhile, with his pyjamas still undone, Ah Fatt had fallen to his knees and was inching towards the mate, his hands cupped like a begging-bowl: 'Sir? For me?'

The mate gave him a nod. 'Ye've earned yer reward, Jackin-ape, no doubt about it, and ye're going to get it too. This here mud is good akbarry: has to be eaten whole. Open yer gobbler and I'll chise it to yer.'

Leaning forwards, Ah Fatt opened his mouth, trembling in anticipation, and the mate flicked the ball of gum out of the paper so that it dropped straight on to his tongue. Ah Fatt's mouth closed and he chewed once. Then suddenly he began to spit and cough, shaking his head as if to rid it of something unspeakably vile.

The sight raised howls of laughter from the mate and the subedar.

'Good day's work, Jackin-ape! There's a lesson in how to use a sprat to catch a mackerel. Gave yer mate a taste o'yer piss and earned y'self a gobful of goatshit to boot!'

Twenty-one

The wedding began in the morning, after the first meal of the day. The hold was divided in two, one part being designated the groom's and the other being allotted to the bride. Everybody chose a side and Kalua was picked to be the head of the bridal family: it was he who led the team that went over to the groom's half of the dabusa for the tilak ceremony, where the engagement was solemnly sealed with a reddening of foreheads.

The women had thought that they'd easily outdo the men in the matter of music, but a rude shock awaited them: it turned out that the groom's team included a group of Ahir singers, and when they began to perform, it became clear that the women would be hard put to compete.

… uthlé há chháti ke jobanwá

piyá ké khélawna ré hoi…

… her budding breasts are ready

to be her lover's toys…

Worse still, it turned out that one of the Ahirs was also a dancer, and knew how to do women's parts, having been trained as a dancing-launda back home. Despite the lack of proper costumes, make-up and accompaniment, he was persuaded to rise to his feet. A small space was cleared for him, in the centre of the deck, and even though he could scarcely stand without hitting his head, he performed so well that the women knew they would have to come up with something special if they were not to be put to shame.

Deeti, as the Bhauji who had organized the wedding, could not allow herself to be bested. When it was time for the midday meal, she gathered the women together and made them hang back in the dabusa. Come now, she said. What are we going to do? We have to think of something, or Heeru won't be able to hold up her head.

It was a withered piece of turmeric, from Sarju's bundle, that gave the bride's side a means of saving face: this root, so common on land, seemed as precious as ambergris now that they were at sea. Fortunately there was just about enough of it to produce a sufficient quantity of paste for the anointing of both bride and groom. But how was the turmeric to be ground, with neither stone nor mortar available? A way was found, eventually, involving the rear ends of two lotas. The effort and ingenuity that went into the grinding added an extra touch of brightness to the ceremony of yellowing, drawing chuckles even from the gloomiest of the girmitiyas.

What with the laughter and the singing, time went by so fast that everyone was amazed when the hatch was thrown open again, for the evening meal: it was hard to believe that it was already dark. The sight of the full moon, hanging upon the horizon with a great red halo around it, produced an awed hush among the migrants when they came on deck. No one had ever seen a moon so large or so strangely coloured: it was almost as if this were some other lunar body than that which lit the plains of Bihar. Even the wind, which had been blowing strongly through the day, seemed to be refreshed by the brightness of the light, for it picked up another knot or two, deepening the swells that were rolling towards the schooner from the eastern horizon. With the light and the waves coming from the same direction, the sea took on a furrowed appearance that reminded Deeti of the fields around Ghazipur at the time of year when the winter's crop was budding into bloom: then, too, if you looked out at night, you would see deep, dark channels in the fields, separating the endless rows of bright, moonlit blossoms – just like the red-flecked lines of foam that sat gleaming upon the dark troughs of the waves.

The schooner's masts were thesam-thes and the vessel was yawing steeply, with sharp saccades of her sails, leaning to leeward as she rode up the swells, and then easing off as she plunged into the troughs: it was as if she were dancing to the music of the wind, which rose in pitch as the vessel leant to leeward, and fell when she righted her keel.

Even though Deeti had grown accustomed to the motion of the ship, today she could not stay on her feet. For fear of tumbling overboard, she pulled Kalua down to squat on the deck-planks, and wedged herself between him and the solid bulwark beneath the deck rail. Whether it was because of the excitement of the wedding, or the moonlight, or the motion of the ship, she was never to know, but it was just then that she felt, for the first time, an unmistakable movement in her womb. Here! Under cover of the bulwark's shadow, she took Kalua's hand and placed it on her belly: Do you feel it?

She saw the flash of his teeth in the darkness and knew he was smiling: Yes, yes, it's the little one, kicking.

No, she said, not kicking – rolling, like the ship.

How strange it was to feel the presence of a body inside her, lurching in time to her own movements: it was as if her belly were the sea, and the child a vessel, sailing towards its own destiny.

Deeti turned to Kalua and whispered: Tonight it's like we too are being married again.

Why? said Kalua. Wasn't the first time good enough? When you found the flowers for the garlands and strung them together with your own hair?

But we didn't do the seven circles, she answered. There was no wood and no fire.

No fire? he said. But didn't we make our own?

Deeti blushed and pulled him to his feet: Chall, na. It's time to get back to Heeru's wedding.

The two convicts were sitting in the gloom of the chokey, silently picking oakum, when the door opened to admit the large, lamp-lit face of Baboo Nob Kissin.

The long-contemplated visit had not been easy to organize: only with the greatest reluctance had Subedar Bhyro Singh agreed to Baboo Nob Kissin's proposed 'tour of inspection', and on giving his assent, had imposed the condition that two of his silahdars would accompany the gomusta to the chokey and be present at the entrance all the while that he was inside. Having agreed to the arrangement, Baboo Nob Kissin had gone to great pains to prepare for the occasion. For his costume, he had chosen a saffron-coloured alkhalla, a robe voluminous enough to be suitable for male and female devotees alike. Hidden under the flowing folds of this garment, in a strip of cloth that was tied around his chest, was the small hoard of edible treats that he had gathered over the last few days – a couple of pomegranates, four hard-boiled eggs, a few crusty parathas and a lump of jaggery.