Sea of Poppies

“As for Deeti, the more she ministered the drug, the more she came to respect its potency: how frail a creature was a human being, to be tamed by such tiny doses of this substance!” 

In an interesting way, this sets up a central tension of the novel; namely, between humanity and the power of temptation. Deeti has spent her life around the poppy seed and is aware of its medicinal qualities, as well as its destructive qualities, but to see it in action is a different story and is intriguing to her.

“Generations of landed leisure had allowed [the Halder family] to develop their own terminology for this aspect of the elements [the shade and mood of the wind]: in their vocabulary, a strong, steady breeze was ‘neel,’ blue; a violent nor’easter was purple, and a listless puff was yellow.” 

Neel’s character development includes reconsidering what he believes to be important. His family places high value on things that ultimately aren’t important and seem laughable to others; for example, instead of learning to understand finances, they created a complex system of understanding kite flying, which is typically considered to be a leisurely affair. 

“So it could happen to a man too? Even a powerful giant of a man could be humiliated and destroyed, in a way that far exceeded his body’s capacity for pain?” 

Violence—and sexual violence, specifically—run throughout the novel. This violence is represented not solely as a gendered experience, but rather as an experience that is the result of a power differential. Deeti has herself experienced this; what sets Kalua apart is his massive size, and to see him suffer the same fate is appalling to her. 

“Through all this despite their exhaustion, the marchers seemed strangely unbowed, even defiant, and some threw the pebbles right back at the spectators: their bravado was no less disturbing to the spectators than their evident destitution.” 

The migrant laborers are in a winless situation: if they appear destitute, they are mocked; if they fight back, they are derided. This is one function of class in the novel—those at the bottom are in a winless situation; they aren’t derided for anything specific about themselves, but rather because their role is apparently to be derided. 

“The war, when it comes, will not be for opium. It will be for a principle: for freedom—for the freedom of trade and for the freedom of the Chinese people. Free Trade is a right conferred on Man by God, and its principles apply as much to opium as to any other article of trade. More so perhaps, since in its absence many millions of natives would be denied the lasting advantages of British influence.” 

Burnham’s fundamental belief is in the power of free trade—another form of power that weakens men, in the ethos of the novel. For Burnham, the right to refuse trade doesn’t enter the equation. His concern is only that free trade continue to benefit him and men like him. 

“It is tyranny alone that is to blame for China’s degeneracy, sir. Merchants like myself [Burnham] are but the servants of Free Trade, which is as immutable as God’s commandments.”

This quote more clearly represents the status of free trade for Burnham—as a divine right, not a philosophy (hence why he also rejects Neel’s attempt to discuss it on philosophical terms). It also demonstrates some fancy footwork on Burnham’s part regarding individual rights and responsibilities: he absolves himself of responsibility while simultaneously insisting upon others’ personal responsibility. 

“The weight and heft of the chains made Jodu wonder what sort of cargo they were intended to restrain: it occurred to him that they might be meant for livestock—and yet the stench that permeated the hold was not that of cows, horses or goats; it was more a human odour, compounded of sweat, urine, excrement and vomit; the smell had leached so deep into the timbers as to have become ineradicable.”

Besides equivocating slaves and migrant laborers with livestock, this passage is striking due to the image of the particularly weighty chains—chains used only to restrain humans. Further, the stench that permeates the wood is striking, not least of all because it suggests that it is not only the stench but the horror of the slave trade which is unable to be eradicated from the very essence of the ship.

“For a wild instant, the idea of escape lodged in Neel’s mind—but only to vanish, as he recalled the map that hung in his daftar, and the red stain of Empire that had spread so quickly across it. Where would I hide? he said.” 

This quote represents the dilemma faced by the Indian population, but it holds special significance for Neel. His family played a special role in creating the monster—they welcomed the British, and Neel’s father was perfectly fine with investing in Burnham year after year so long as he saw returns. By the time it’s come back to bite Neel, there’s no escape. 

“Even then [Deeti] did not feel herself to be living in the same sense as before: a curious feeling, of joy mixed with resignation, crept into her heart, for it was as if she really had died and been delivered betimes in rebirth, to her next life: she had shed the body of the old Deeti, with the burden of its karma; she had paid the price her stars had demanded of her, and was free now to create a new destiny as she willed, with whom she chose—and she knew that it was with Kalua that this life would be lived, until another death claimed the body that he had torn from the flames.” 

A major theme of the novel is that of personal transformation, and this is the beginning of Deeti’s transformation. It isn’t just a rebirth in the sense that she was saved from the fire and is moving on; her transformation is one of caste and status, as well, as she’ll be starting a life with Kalua, an untouchable.

“From an investor’s point of view, each dead, escaped and incapacitated recruit represented a serious loss, and it was increasingly clear that if something wasn’t done about the problem, the business would cease to be profitable.” 

It’s striking how often, in Sea of Poppies, human concerns are discussed through the language of business. Here, for example, it’s clear that the problem to be solved is that of the loss of profit. The cruelty of the free market recurs throughout the text in a similar fashion as above. 

“The town [Chhapra] was thronged with hundreds of other impoverished transients, many of whom were willing to sweat themselves half to death for a few handfuls of rice. Many of these people had been driven from their villages by the flood of flowers that had washed over the countryside: lands that had once provided sustenance were now swamped by the rising tide of poppies […].” 

As is noted elsewhere, the British occupation of India eradicated the villagers’ ability to sustain themselves. Deeti’s village, for example, once viewed poppy as a minor crop that was used for minor things; however, by the start of the novel, British authorities allow them to grow little else. As a result, the Indian people starve while Britons like Burnham grow rich. 

“Besides, the Rajas of Raskhali were well known to be bigoted, ritual-bound Hindus, who were dismissive of heterodox Vaishnavites like himself: people like that needed to be taught a lesson from time to time.”

This quote helps to explain why Baboo Nob Kissin is so willing to betray one of his own for Burnham; additionally, it highlights the complexity of the novel’s various tensions. Nob Kissin will never be accepted fully by Burnham or other whites, nor will he be accepted fully by members of Neel’s caste, even if they are his own countrymen. Ironically, though, Nob Kissin’s belief in Neel’s rigidity is misplaced; although Neel does follow these traditions, he does so more because that’s how he was raised, and he maintains his lands not out of pride but out of duty toward his relatives, who depend on them. This isn’t to say that Nob Kissin is totally incorrect in his assessment of Neel, but that he may, perhaps, be overestimating Neel’s own adherence to such practices.

“‘In pronouncing your sentence I [Justice Kendalbushe] have a stark choice: I can choose either to let the law take its course without partiality, or I can choose to establish, as a legal principle, that there exists in India a set of persons who are entitled to commit crimes without punishment.’ And so there does, thought Neel, and you are one of them and I am not.” 

As with Burnham, Kendalbushe is unable to see the irony in his words, or else he purposely overlooks them: this trial was very clearly a show trial, and Neel is being sentenced on dubious charges in order to reinforce the supremacy of the English in India. Kendalbushe claims boldly and loudly that he is demonstrating that no one is above the law, but in doing so he demonstrates that the English, and whites more broadly, are able to use the law as a tool in a way that no Indian ever will. 

“Each woman had always practiced her own method in the belief that none other could possibly exist: it was bewildering at first, then funny, then exciting, to discover that the recipes varied with every household, family and village, and that each was considered unquestionable by its adherents.” 

A core theme of the novel is that of difference—the ways difference can be celebrated or used detrimentally. Here, the women discover for the first time that things they thought to be rigid are anything but, and it’s important that this excites them in a novel when difference so often makes people fearful.

“The truth is, sir, that men do what their power permits them to do. We are no different from the Pharaohs or the Mongols: the difference is only that when we kill people we feel compelled to pretend that it is for some higher cause. It is this pretence of virtue, I promise you, that will never be forgiven by history.” 

Chillingworth has no allies around the table here, but he represents an important counterpoint to Burnham and others’ warmongering. His essential point is that war is meant to empower the already powerful, and that any other reason given for war is a farce. Burnham wants to believe that his actions exist to benefit the common person, but Chillingworth has seen enough battle in his life to believe this to be false. This doesn’t make Chillingworth an ally of the Chinese, nor does he believe himself to be an ally of men like Burnham, who use people like Chillingworth to enrich themselves.

“The question of whether Mr Burnham was a better or worse human being than the man who had fathered him, seemed, to Zachary, without meaning or purpose, for he took for granted that power made its bearers act in inexplicable ways—no matter whether a captain or bossman or just a master, like his father.” 

This is a striking quote because it represents the complex morality that Zachary deals with throughout the book. As he continues his journey, in passing, he must constantly decide how to deal with people who would consider him to be less than human if they knew the truth about him. The only way for him to escape this, however, is to reject his only real avenue toward success. As a result, he must constantly balance complex feelings about those in power. 

“In a way, he was none other than the man he had ever been, Neel Rattan Halder, but he was different too, for his hands were affixed upon an object that was ringed with a bright penumbra of loathing; yet now that it was in his grip it seemed no more nor less than what it was, a tool to be used according to his wishes.” 

As a novel of personal transformation, Neel’s is quite profound, albeit in simple ways. It might seem ridiculous that Neel can find joy in the task of picking up a broom to clean his cell, but it demonstrates just how deeply the concepts of caste and priority are ingrained in him. 

“On a boat of pilgrims, no one can lose caste and everyone is the same: it’s like taking a boat to the temple of Jagannath, in Puri. From now on, and forever afterwards, we will all be ship-siblings—jaházbhais and jaházbahens—to each other. There’ll be no differences between us.” 

Paulette’s claim destructs class and racial hierarchies; it is self-serving to some extent, but it represents a particular viewpoint that emerges throughout the novel. It’s hard to say there is one single protagonist, or a collective protagonist; in reality, the central conflict is between Paulette’s ideology here and the exclusive, power-driven hierarchy of Burnham. 

“It was either Deeti’s voice, or some fragment of her songs, that made him remember that hers was the language, Bhojpuri, in which Parimal had been accustomed to speak to him, in his infancy and childhood—until the day when his father put a stop to it. The fortunes of the Halders were built, the old Raja had said, on their ability to communicate with those who held the reins of power; Parimal’s rustic tongue was the speech of those who bore the yoke […].” 

Language plays a key role in the text, and it’s intriguing seeing all the ways language is used to stand in for something larger about a person. Paulette, for example, marks herself in opposition to Europeans in Calcutta by feeling more comfortable speaking Bengali. Here, Neel realizes how much he misses Bhojpuri, but the text is making a larger claim about the significance and place of certain languages over others, and it is important that Neel reconnects with Bhojpuri only after he loses caste.

“[Paulette] could not bear to watch and her gaze strayed instead to Mr Crowle. He, too, had his eyes fixed on the bowsprit, and she saw, to her astonishment, that his face, usually so hard and glowering, had turned as liquid as the sea, with currents of cross-cutting emotion whirling across it.” 

There are many hints that Crowle is deliberately endangering his crew, and this is one such hint: as Jodu and Zachary struggle, Crowle is very clearly enjoying the spectacle. 

“[Paulette] saw now how miraculously wrong she had been in some of her judgements of [Zachary]: if there was anyone on the Ibis who could match her in the multiplicity of her selves, then it was none other than Zachary. It was as if some divine authority had sent a messenger to let her know that her soul was twinned with his.” 

Throughout the novel, people jump to conclusions about others, often based on external rather than internal characteristics. Zachary passing as white leads many to assume automatically that he was born wealthy, though this is very far from the truth of the matter. Interestingly, Zachary tries to dispel this notion numerous times, but it is only when Paulette discovers that he is black that she accepts what he’s been saying all along. 

“[Deeti] looked at the seed as if she had never seen one before, and suddenly she knew that it was not the planet above that governed her life: it was this miniscule orb—at once bountiful and all-devouring, merciful and destructive, sustaining and vengeful. This was her Shani, her Saturn.” 

This is a key epiphany for Deeti: understanding that her world is run not by any kind of fate or destiny, but by the power of the poppy plant. Even here, the plant takes primacy over those exploiting it—in essence, the British, too, are ruled by the poppy plant, as they need it in order to carry out their colonialist actions. 

“For this you should know, gentlemen, that there is an unspoken pact between the white man and the natives who sustain his power in Hindoosthan—it is that in matters of marriage and procreation, like must be with like, and each must keep to their own. The day the natives lose faith in us, as the guarantors of the order of castes—that will be the day, gentlemen, that will doom our rule.” 

The illusion of the rule of law is a fundamental theme of the text, and in this moment Chillingworth demonstrates its illusion. Just before this, he decides to delay Kalua’s matter until Port Louis, to allow the rule of law to decide; however, for political reasons, he simultaneously hands Kalua off to Bhyro Singh to essentially dole out vigilante justice.