The Far Pavilions by M. M. Kaye
‘Asleep. And sadly disappointed in the Rana. He had been hoping that there would be a great battle.’
‘Blood-thirsty brat,’ commented Ash sourly. And added that he hoped the boy's uncle was also asleep, as the old man had had a great deal to put up with of late, and the events of the previous night must have tried him sorely.
‘That is so,’ agreed Mulraj, ‘but it would take more than the discomforts of a night march to keep the Rao-Sahib from his prayers. He performs his pujah, and only when that is finished will he rest. As for myself, being less devout, I shall follow the young prince's example and take what sleep I can before these Bhithoris descend upon us with lies and excuses and false expressions of good-will.’
‘And apologies also, one hopes – though I doubt that. But there is no need for us to break our rest for them. They have kept us waiting often enough and it will do them and their misbegotten ape of a Rana no harm to get a taste of their own medicine.’
‘Oho! Sahib ka mizaj aj bahut garum hai,’ quoted Mulraj with a grin, repeating a comment he had heard Gul Baz make in a muttered aside to Ash's syce.
‘So would you be in a bad temper,’ retorted Ash hotly, ‘if you'd had to –’ He broke off and laughed a trifle ashamedly: ‘You are right. I'm in a foul mood, and at the moment I'd enjoy murdering the lot of them – starting with the Rana. The thought of having to pretend that all the insults and chicanery that we have been subjected to are forgiven and forgotten, and that the wedding can take place as though nothing had happened, sticks in my gullet, and when I think that… I'm sorry. I'd better get some sleep myself or I shall be in no fit state to conduct any further talks with anyone. Go on, get to your bed. So-jana, bai, and may your dreams be auspicious.’
He watched Mulraj walk tiredly away and was aware that he himself was tired beyond reason, not only physically but mentally – so tired that suddenly he could not feel angry any more. His anger, together with all the fears and hopes that had tormented him for so long, seemed to have drained out of him, leaving behind a vast emptiness. He had done all that he could for Juli. And also, which was ironical, for Nandu: he had saved Nandu's pride and his purse, together with Juli's honour, and (for what it was worth) the reputations of the Rana, the Political Officer and Captain Pelham-Martyn of the Guides. And none of it meant anything any more…
Ash turned and went into his tent, and a few minutes later the anxious Mahdoo, hastening in with a scalding cup of tea, found him stretched out on the camp bed, fully clothed and so deeply asleep that he did no more than grunt when Mahdoo and Gul Baz eased him out of his coat and riding boots before closing the tent-flap against the dazzle of the rising sun.
30
He was riding headlong across a stony plain that was bounded by low, barren hills, and Anjuli was on the crupper behind him, clinging to him and urging him to ride faster – faster. He could not see the horsemen racing in pursuit, for when he looked back her unbound hair, streaming out on the wind like a silken scarf, impeded his view. But he could hear the thunder of galloping hoof-beats drawing nearer and nearer, and he laughed because Juli's arms were about him and nothing and no one could harm them as long as they were together. And then suddenly he realized that the silken scarf was not black but yellow, and he looked over his shoulder and saw with horror that it was not Juli at all, but a silly simpering girl with blue eyes and blond ringlets who pouted at him and said: ‘Do hurry, Ashton. I don't want Papa to catch us.’ Belinda! – he had eloped with Belinda, and now he would have to marry her and be saddled with her for the rest of his life. For ever and always…
‘No. Oh no,’ cried Ash. And woke, sweating and shuddering, to find Mahdoo bending over him and his tent once more lit by an oil lamp. He had slept the clock round, and the messengers from the Rana, who had arrived in the course of the morning, were still waiting to speak to him.
‘The Sirdar Mulraj gave orders that neither you nor he were to be disturbed,’ said Mahdoo, ‘but the Sirdar is still sleeping, and now the Rao-Sahib sends to know what is to be done with them and whether arrangements should be made for them to spend the night here.’
‘Why here?’ asked Ash, puzzled. His mind was still clouded with the aftermath of nightmare and he was feeling absurdly shaken and not yet fully awake.
‘Because the hour is late, and the road to the city is a rough one in the darkness,’ explained Mahdoo.
Ash shook himself like a dog coming out of water, and his eyes became focused and aware. He said shortly: ‘That last we have good reason to know. But if we could travel it, so can they. If the Rao-Sahib's servant is without, I will speak to him. Call him.’
Mahdoo did so, and Kaka-ji's elderly major-domo entered and salaamed.
‘Tell the Rao-Sahib,’ said Ash, ‘that there is no reason why he should put himself out to offer hospitality to these people, and that I myself will send word to them that we much regret our inability to offer them any accommodation for the night, but owing to our own lack of sleep we have not yet had time to set our camp in order. So I suggest they now return to the city and visit us again tomorrow; or preferably the next day, when we shall be in a better state to receive them.’
He had done precisely that, and the Rana's envoys rode back to Bhithor by starlight in an extremely anxious frame of mind, having all wasted the greater part of a day without having been able to see or speak to a single person of consequence, or make any of the fulsome and placatory speeches they had been charged to deliver. At an early hour next morning they reported on the failure of their mission to the Diwan, who not unnaturally regarded this as proof positive that the Sahib was acting with the full approval of the Government of India – for otherwise how would he have dared to behave in this manner? The Rana fully agreed with this view, and after another urgent meeting with his councillors ordered the dispatch of large supplies of grain, fruit and fresh vegetables to the camp, as a personal gift from himself and a gesture of good-will from the citizens of Bhithor.
The arrival of these provisions relieved Ash of a major source of anxiety, for the stocks he had managed to hoard would not have lasted long, and had there been no way of augmenting them, the camp would have been forced to leave Bhithor and risk the possibility of not being invited to return, which would have spelt disaster for Karidkote. The long line of heavily laden carts that rumbled into the camp not only banished that fear, but showed that the Rana had lost his nerve and was metaphorically waving a white flag.
There had been no deputation from the palace that day, but on the following one the Diwan himself, accompanied by a number of senior councillors and nobles, had ridden into the camp and been received with all ceremony. It was immediately plain that there were to be no explanations or apologies, but that all the unpleasantness of the preceding weeks was to be treated as though it had never occurred. The Diwan had even managed to infer that any delay over the negotiations was only due to the fact that the Rana's family priest had not been in agreement with the priests of the city temple on the matter of an auspicious date for the wedding. But as this difficulty had at last been resolved, it remained only for the brides' relatives to choose which of two selected dates (both equally propitious) they preferred and the arrangements for the ceremony would at once be put in train.
No one on either side had made any reference to previous disagreements, and the talks had been conducted in an atmosphere of cordiality and sweet reason that could hardly have been exceeded among a band of bosom-friends. The Diwan had concluded by saying that the state guest-houses, together with the Moti Mahal, the Pearl Palace, were at the disposal of the brides and their entourage, and it was hoped that they would take up residence there at the earliest opportunity.
By now the entire camp had learned to place no trust in the Rana, and the thought of what he might do if he were allowed to gain possession of so many valuable hostages could not be avoided. Nevertheless, the offer had been accepted; largely because Ash considered that the danger was past and there would be no further attempts
‘The Ram Bagh,’ said Ash, ‘has a wall about it. A high and well-built wall that we could defend if these faithless Bhithoris tried any further tricks. It is also shielded from the forts by the city, so that there will be no threat from their cannon, and we'll leave a third of our forces here, allowing it to be known that should any further “misunderstandings” occur, they have orders to fight their way out across the border and carry a full report of the matter to the Government. Yes, I think we may safely accept the offer.’
Kaka-ji and the elders had agreed, and after consulting his priest, Kaka-ji had declared in favour of the second of the two dates. That having been settled, two thirds of the camp had moved back through the gorge again, and marching down the length of the valley, had skirted the city and taken up residence in the royal park; the brides with their brother and uncle and their women in a little white marble palace on the lake's edge, Ash and Mulraj and other senior personages in the guest-houses, and the remainder in tents pitched under the shade of mango, neem and gold mohur trees.
The change was a welcome one, for now that the louh was failing the park was an infinitely cooler and more comfortable spot than the valley or the country beyond the gorge: Both palace and guest-houses were plentifully supplied with punkahs and kus-kus tatties, and what little breeze there was blew in off the lake and made the nights pleasant and the days far from intolerable. Nor could any fault be found with the behaviour of the Rana and his subjects, who now combined to see that the visitors lacked nothing. The Rana, with unexpected generosity, had actually decreed that the park was to be regarded as Karidkote territory for a period of six weeks, so that the brides' relatives and friends could look upon it as their home and, in effect, invite the barat – the bridegroom's party – to attend the wedding there.
‘A truly thoughtful and courteous gesture,’ approved Kaka-ji, adding hopefully that it showed the Rana had good qualities as well as bad ones, and possibly he had been influenced of late by evil advisers whom he had now found out and dismissed. ‘It may be that in future he will be more just in his dealings,’ said Kaka-ji. ‘We must believe that this is so.’
Ash did not believe anything of the sort, but he could see no point in saying so. The old man was tired and anxious, and if it consoled him to hope that the Rana had suffered a change of heart, why not leave him to his daydreams? God knew that he, Ash, would have given much to share them, but he knew very well that the Rana's advisers merely echoed their master's wishes, and that there was only one ruler in Bhithor. If, at present, their ruler was on his best behaviour, it was merely because he had been badly frightened; but leopards did not change their spots, and once the wedding was over – and the interfering Pelham-Sahib had departed – the Rana would revert to normal. Of that Ash was confident.
But as there was nothing he could do about it he kept silent on that subject, though he pointed out somewhat acidly that the ‘thoughtful and courteous gesture’ of bestowing temporary territorial rights over the park to Karidkote was likely to prove an expensive one as far as Nandu was concerned, for by custom, the bride's family play host to the groom's party, the barat, during the three days of the marriage ceremonies. And though it is laid down that the barat must not exceed two hundred, in the present instance, as the wedding was to take place in the groom's own state, that number was, understandably, likely to be very much higher – a fact which had not troubled the bride's family at all, since they could hardly be expected to play host to their hosts. Now, however, as a result of the Rana's decree they must do that very thing – and pay heavily for the privilege.
Kaka-ji, who had hitherto failed to see this point, looked startled, and as its implications dawned on him, observed with grudging respect that the Rana was undoubtedly a cunning fellow and one to be reckoned with. ‘Too cunning for an old man such as myself,’ admitted Kaka-ji ruefully. ‘Ah well, it would not have been possible for us to refuse his offer, so we must put a good face upon it. Nor do I feel that we need grudge him this little victory, seeing that we have defeated him so soundly in all other respects. Yet I hope you do not think that he has any further tricks in mind?’
Ash thought it only too likely: probably a round dozen. But he sidestepped the question by asking if the Rao-Sahib had yet learned how many people were likely to be in the bridegroom's party? – the durbar hall of the Pearl Palace, where the marriage ceremony would take place, was not over-large, and…
The Rao-Sahib, instantly diverted, replied that only relatives and close friends would be in the durbar hall, but that several large shamianahs were already being erected in the gardens of the Moti Mahal to accommodate the, remainder of the guests. He took Ash off to inspect them, and in the bustle and excitement of the preparations the Rana's ‘minor victory’ was tactfully forgotten.
There had been no more trouble over the payment of the bride-price, and now it seemed that nothing was too good for the visitors. The bride's brother and uncle, and anyone else who chose to do so, were pressed to stay on after the wedding for as long as it suited them – until the onset of the monsoon if they wished. The Pearl Palace would be placed at their disposal and no limit set to the number of attendants and other members of their entourage whom they might choose to keep with them, all of whom could be accommodated in the park.
The offer was a generous one, and Ash realized with dismay that it would probably be accepted, and that however much he personally disliked the idea of having to stay in Bhithor for even a day longer than he must, it would be no bad thing if it were, as there was no blinking the fact that the longer Jhoti stayed out of Nandu's reach the better. Biju Ram was dead and his servants and confederates banished from the camp, but there would still be men in Karidkote willing to do murder at a nod from their ruler, and it was Ash's hope (or had been, in the days before he met the Rana) that the boy's new brother-in-law might be persuaded to keep him in Bhithor until such time as he was old enough to guard himself from assassination – or until Nandu over-reached himself and was deposed, which was not so unlikely in view of the fact that the verbal report Ash would be required to make on his return to Rawalpindi would include an account of the attempts on Jhoti's life, which would certainly result in a good deal of official attention being focused on Nandu's activities, both past and present.
There was also the welfare of the camp as a whole to be considered, and Ash knew very well that the great majority of its members, including the horses, elephants, pack animals and other livestock, would gain greatly from remaining in Bhithor until the arrival of the monsoon. If all had gone as planned, they would have been half-way home by now, but delays on the outward march and the protracted negotiations that had followed upon their arrival had totalled many weeks. The worst of the hot weather was already upon them, and to start the return journey in this heat would mean great hardship for all – the old in particular; and Kaka-ji, for one, was far from robust and unused to these high temperatures.
‘They will have to stay,’ thought Ash resignedly. They would all have to stay, himself included. He was tied to the camp until such time as they reached Deenagunj again. When the proposal was put to him he agreed to it, even though the thought of lingering in Bhithor within sight of the Rung Mahal where Anjuli would be living, wedded and bedded to that shrivelled and unscrupulous satyr, was as near intolerable as makes no matter. He would have given ten years of his life to be able to turn his back on the place now, at once, and get as far away from it as possible; and a further ten to be able to forget that he had ever seen it.
But the news that they were to stay in Bhithor for a further month was received with delight by Jhoti, who now that the wedding day was imminent had begun to think of the future and to wonder what Nandu would do to him when he got back to Karidkote. The thought made him shiver, and he therefore greeted the Rana's invitation as a
Kaka-ji was equally grateful. He had been dreading the rigours of a return journey at this season, and had not looked forward to exchanging the cool marble rooms of the Pearl Palace for an airless tent in the dust and the scorching heat of the empty plains. But Mulraj was less enthusiastic, though he agreed that as far as Jhoti and Kaka-ji were concerned, it was an excellent idea: ‘But we cannot all stay. Our numbers are too great, and it would be a grave mistake to put so heavy a strain upon the Rana's hospitality; or his patience. Besides, there is no necessity for it. I would suggest that we divide our camp into two and that as soon as the festivities are over, one half should move off under the command of Hira Singh, who can be trusted to see to their safety and welfare, taking the heavy baggage and moving only by night – there being no need for haste. It is even possible that if the monsoon favours us, we who remain here may catch up with them before they reach the borders, of Karidkote.’
Ash gave his consent to this plan, but made no move towards putting it into operation. The affairs of the camp had suddenly become so meaningless to him that he found it an effort to show even a cursory interest in them, and it was left to Mulraj and his officers to work out the details and deal with the hundred and one arrangements that must be made, while Ash spent his days shooting sandgrouse or riding through the narrow valleys between the hills. Anything to escape from the past and the Pearl Palace – and the sight and sound of men preparing for the celebration of a marriage; which was only possible far out on the plain or among the hills, since not only the city itself, but every village and hamlet in the state was a-flutter with banners and garlands, while the approaches to the park were spanned by arches decorated with tinsel and coloured paper and flowers.