The Brave New World - 161 A Fishy Funeral

When he woke up, Neil was already gone from the shed. Samir lay still for a while, listening to the sounds coming from outside. He could hear the crackle of burning wood and the bubbling of boiling water, and the soft hiss of the ocean. In spite of sleeping for so long, he didn’t feel completely rested, and wasn’t in the best of moods.

He would have liked to go straight back to sleep, but he needed to relieve himself. He got up and staggered to the shed’s entrance on stiff legs and looked outside, squinting at the sunlight.

The caretaker’s wife was squatting by the fire, looking at the boiling pot with great disappointment, as if she was blaming it for all the misfortunes of her life. She barely answered Samir’s greeting. This wasn’t good. Frowning, Samir dropped to squat beside her and asked:

“Where’s everybody else?”

“The youngsters went fishing,” she said. “Jagat and Mitesh went to bury the bodies of the men you’ve killed.” Jagat was her husband’s name, and Mitesh – her brother’s.

“Good,” said Samir. It was clear she didn’t share this view. He felt like giving her a thump, but he restrained himself. Instead, he asked:

“What’s for breakfast?”

“You can have a yam. That’s the last few.”

“I’ll show you where to find more. Don’t worry, you won’t starve here. There’s plenty of food around here.”

“Mitesh had a fish bone stuck in his throat,” she said, in a tone that indicated eating any of the advertised food was a dangerous occupation.

“Is that why he was coughing last night?”

‘Yes.”

“He’s all right now?”

“Yes.”

“But you aren’t.”

She pouted for a while before saying:

“We need clothes. I am not used to wearing leaves on a string, like a savage.”

“There’s plenty of things you’ll have to get used to in the New World,” Samir said sharply. He stood up and added:

“And if you want clothes, then make some.”

He left her and walked behind the storage shed and urinated on the dark stains that marked the ground where the bodies of the two men had lain. He wondered where the teacher’s husband and her brother had taken the bodies. He also wondered about Neil – had he gone fishing with the youngsters?

He returned to the settlement. The teacher – her name was Devi – still squatted and stared at the boiling pot, blaming it for everything that was wrong. Samir picked up a sharp stick and speared an air potato from the pot and asked:

“Where is the salt?”

“It’s all gone.”

“Where’s Neil?” he asked.

“He’s gone fishing.”

“What about you?”

She looked at him, her face blank.

“What about you?” he repeated. “Why aren’t you doing something? Go and get more salt. You know where it is. Get up! Go!”

She did, after some more shouting. Samir watched her waddle away, feeling hate. Stupid old cow! He forced himself to calm down and ate his meager breakfast and decided there was no time to lose. He would go and find Neil and they would set off for Kulaba right away.

But he couldn’t do that! He was a ruler. He had responsibilities! Suddenly and totally unexpectedly, Samir felt a fierce longing for the days when he was a poor squatter, working for peanuts in a shabby office. He missed them! He missed being a Mr Nobody. It had many advantages over being a king.

He was still brooding when Jagat the caretaker, his new mayor, showed up. He was sweaty and dirty and his hands were covered by many new cuts.

“I’ve come for the flint,” he announced before Samir could berate him for being away for so long.

“The flint? What do you need it for?”

“I need it to light the pyre. We are going to give those men a proper burial.”

“Wait,” said Samir. “Are you telling me you’ve built a pyre?”

“Yes. It wasn’t difficult. We found a dead tree. That’s where we took the bodies.”

“You spent all morning on those two bodies? Looking for wood, and building a pyre? Are you insane?”

Jagat was shocked. He didn’t know what to say. He looked sideways and at the ground, everywhere but into Samir’s eyes.

“I have appointed you as the leader,” Samir said heavily. “Your people need food and clothes. And you’re messing around with corpses.”

“I spoke to our priest back home. He told me to give them a proper burial.”

“You spoke to your priest back home? What did you tell him?”

Jagat was silent.

“You told him about me? You told him about this place? You told him what happened?”

“Yes.”

“You fool,” said Samir. “Do you know what you have done?”

Jagat stayed silent, and Samir briefly thought about killing him, his stupid wife, and her insufferable brother. He was tempted; his hand moved to the hilt of his knife. He restrained himself with the greatest difficulty. He said:

“You have made sure you will have people coming here. People who will want food and clothes and a place to live. They’ll kill you and your wife and her stupid brother and take everything you have.”

Jagat was horrified.

“No,” he said. “The New World has been given to us by the gods so that we can mend our ways and live in peace.”

“I can hear your priest talking through you,” Samir said. “He’s never been to the New World. It’s obvious he doesn’t know much about it. Why do you think I killed those two men? For fun? They wanted to kill me. They wanted to take my settlement. And now you waste a whole morning messing around with their corpses.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jagat said sullenly, still refusing to look at Samir’s face.

“I want you to finish what you started. Here, take the flint. I want all of you back here in a couple of hours. I want to speak to all of you before I leave.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Of course I’m leaving. I told you that last night.”

“I was thinking you will stay for a few days.”

“No. I must return to the capital. I will come back in a week or two. In the meantime, you’ll have to manage the best you can.”

Jagat was crestfallen.

“But I don’t know if we can manage on our own,” he said.

“Then you’ll die,” Samir told him, and went off to look for Neil.

He didn’t have to go far. He met Neil and the two teenagers a few moments later. They were returning to the village, loaded with goodies. They had fish and coconuts and some greens and the girl was also carrying hairy coconut husks. Their fiber was easy to twist into a string.

It showed good thinking, good initiative, and Samir felt a little better about his new colonists. When they were back in the village, he generously gave the girl his knife to scale and gut the fish.

“Do it right away next time, and drop the guts into the water where you fish,” he told her. “The fish like that. It’s food. It doesn’t bother them they are eating their friends and companions. They will come back for more.”

Then he took Neil aside for a quick conference.

“What do you think about those two?” he asked.

Neil grinned.

“They’re nice,” he said. “We’ve become friends. Did you know Keya is Hunar’s sister? They don’t look alike at all.”

“I thought she was his girlfriend.”

“So did I.”

“I like them,” Samir said. “I don’t like the other three.”

Neil was diplomatically silent. Samir sighed, and said:

“It seems were stuck with them. Oh well. Listen, we’re going home this afternoon. We’ll eat, I’ll tell everyone what to do, and we’ll go. I want you to leave your ax with them. Give it to Hunar if you like. I’ll also give him my spear.”

“The others are going to be offended.”

“I don’t care.”

Neil’s face changed suddenly. His eyes widened, and he said:

“What’s that?”

Samir turned, squinting at the faraway column of grey smoke.

“Oh, that,” he said. “They’re burning the bodies of the men we killed. Those two asses, Jagat and Mitesh, spent the whole morning setting it up.”

“Samir?”

“What?”

“Hunar and Keya told people back home about your colony.”

“I am going to kill them all,” Samir said through clenched teeth. “I am going to kill them all. They are going to ruin everything.”

“I told them they shouldn’t have done that. They promised to keep quiet in the future.”

“What’s done is done,” Samir said. He bit his lip, his face dark. It was obvious he wasn’t thinking nice thoughts.

“All right,” he said finally. “Let’s see how they’re getting on with those fish. I want my knife back.”

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