Danger at Dahlkari

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Danger at Dahlkari

Jennifer Wilde writing as Edwina Marlow

In memory of my beloved sister,

P
ATSY
R
UTH
H
UFF

One

The desert sand was a tannish gray, the sky the color of steel. Heat waves shimmered in the air like semitransparent yellow veils, and as the camels and horses trudged along with that infuriating slowness, small puffs of dust rose and hung suspended over the caravan. Bells tinkled. Harness clattered. Heavy wooden wheels creaked and groaned. In the distance I could see yet another jungle, a black-green line on the horizon, and a dense stretch of jungle ran along the desert on our left. Occasionally, over the jostle and jangle, I could hear the monkeys chatter, hear the brightly hued birds cry out in shrill discord.

Weary of the silk-hung palanquin carried by four strapping bearers, I walked along in the sand, trying to ignore the heat, trying to hold back the sense of apprehension I had felt for the past two days. Joining Yasmin Singh's caravan had seemed a wonderful idea back in Delhi, the perfect solution to my problem. A Lieutenant Parks and his men were to have escorted Sally and me to the garrison at Dahlkari, but two days before the scheduled departure the unfortunate lieutenant had come down with a severe attack of the measles. It had been the cause of much merriment in the English settlement, Lieutenant Parks the butt of many a joke, but I had felt sheer frustration. It had taken us so long to come this far, so many endless weeks. Another delay had seemed impossible to endure. Learning that the caravan was about to depart, I immediately made arrangements to join them, quite scandalizing all the English ladies who deemed it unthinkable for two English girls to travel up-country alone with a band of natives. Adamant and defiant to the end, I went ahead with my plans, leaving the ladies of Delhi both shocked and dismayed and causing considerable consternation among the military personnel who had tried their best to dissuade me from such an impulsive course.

Red-cheeked and blustering, Colonel Hendricks had tugged at his bushy white mustache and informed me that it simply wasn't done, implying that he would have me tossed into the stockade if I didn't give up the idea posthaste. Calm, composed, icily polite, I informed him that I was a civilian and could do as I bloody well pleased. The colonel seemed on the verge of apoplexy when I left his office, but there really had been nothing he or anyone else could do. Sally and I had been traveling with the caravan for four days now, and I was beginning to wish I had listened to reason back in Delhi.

The first two days had been pleasant enough. We had passed a number of villages with their drab brown huts and water holes, sleek black buffalo lolling in the mud, and we had passed beautiful temples festooned with garlands of flowers, moving across rich, verdant green countryside sparkling with brooks and streams, cascades of water splashing down rocky inclines. I responded to this country of my youth, loving anew the flame trees abloom with scarlet, the tamarind, the peepul, the wild plum. Seeing the long-horned white cattle grazing placidly in the flat, watery jade green fields brought back so many memories of my youth, as did the cry of the myna bird and the sight of an elephant moving ponderously along the misty blue horizon. I had been twelve years old when I left India, an orphan, both my parents victims of the cholera, and seven long years had passed, years endured in an ever-so-respectable academy for young ladies in Bath. It was glorious to be back, to know that I would soon be joining my beloved Dollie and her Reggie, now commander of the garrison at Dahlkari.

Dollie McAllister had been my mother's best friend. She had been like a second mother to me. Her husband, now Lieutenant Colonel McAllister, had been the executor of my parents' estate, and it was he who had arranged to have me sent to the academy in England. Dollie had kept in touch all these years, her letters as fussy, witty and vivacious as the lady herself. When, upon my graduation, she wrote to suggest that I join her and Reggie in Dahlkari and select myself a husband from among the many potentials abounding there, I wasted no time in accepting the invitation. I wasn't interested in finding a husband, but I
was
eager to see the McAllisters again, eager to return to the land I had loved so well.

I was delighted when Sally decided to accompany me. An orphan like myself, though not nearly so fortunate in background, she had been taken on as a parlor maid at the academy, a bright, saucy and alert young minx who longed for adventure, particularly the kind involving members of the opposite sex. Our friendship had quite alarmed the staff at the academy, but I had found Sally far more engaging than any of the prim, sedate young ladies of my own class. When she learned I was to go to India, Sally promptly informed me that I couldn't possibly go alone, that I would need a personal maid, that she was taking the job. Her liveliness and insatiable curiosity had turned a long, dreary journey into something of a lark. Though her behavior left much to be desired so far as the proprieties were concerned, I couldn't have done without her.

So we had come to India, landing at Bombay with its beautiful temples and shrines and gold and ivory palaces, its palm trees, crowded and exotic bazaars, its sedate and exclusive English settlement that had as little as possible to do with the natives. Sally had been enchanted by the elephants and snake charmers and the sacred cows that ambled leisurely down the crowded streets and among the stalls. She had been enchanted by the tall bronzed Sepoys in their red jackets and white turbans and even more so by the profusion of English bachelors on hand. A natural and uninhibited flirt, she had captivated a score of them during the two weeks before we departed for Delhi. In Delhi she divided her time between a ginger-haired sergeant and a strapping young corporal, both of whom lavished attention on her and took her to dimly lit native establishments that respectable English girls shouldn't even have known existed. Sally had become an expert on native dishes, on the use of the hookah, on exotic nautch dancers with spangled veils and vermilion-stained feet. Curious about everything, the girl already knew far more about India than I did.

Both the sergeant and the corporal had been desolate when we left Delhi four days ago. Both had tried to persuade her not to leave with the native caravan, saying it was unsafe, unseemly, unheard of for two English girls to travel in such a manner. Sally retorted that Miss Lauren didn't care a fig for convention, that Yasmin Singh was utterly respectable, spoke English quite well and would protect us with his life, as would his servants. Truth to tell, Sally had already met Ahmed by that time, and she had lost interest in her two English suitors. The son of a silk merchant, Ahmed was a handsome Indian youth who was transporting some merchandise for his father, traveling with Yasmin Singh's caravan for security's sake, and Sally declared that she had never seen such a beautiful creature in all her born days.

Tall and lean, Ahmed had a dark, creamy tan complexion, a wide pink mouth curling in a boyish grin and large, luminous black eyes that flashed with mischievous delight as he tried to frighten Sally with tales of cobras and tigers and bands of brutal Thugs, at the same time assuring her that he would keep her safe from all danger. Ahmed wore kidskin boots, formfitting white trousers and a jade green silk tunic that splendidly displayed his muscular physique. His white silk turban was fastened in front with an ornate jade clasp. No more than nineteen, he was an amiable lad, as flirtatious as Sally herself, but even Ahmed's jaunty high spirits had begun to dampen after the first two days.

Leaving the rich and lovely agricultural area behind, we began to move over rough, rocky terrain that eventually turned into stretches of burning sand broken by vast clumps of jungle that had sprung up around the streams. It was an oppressive landscape, one that seemed laden with some heavy, invisible menace. The bearers grew tense and nervous, moving through the deep jungle with obvious apprehension, keeping an eye on the horizon as the caravan made its way over the stretches of sand. A pleasant and voluble fellow who had spent the first two days boasting about his immense wealth, his numerous wives, his high standing in his home community, Yasmin Singh fell silent, too, his plump face tight with fear, his heavily beringed fingers tugging worriedly at the folds of his robe. Everyone seemed relieved when five heavily armed men joined the caravan on the afternoon of the third day. Their white trousers baggy, their loose white tunics tied at the waist with colored sashes, they had dark, impassive faces and were decidedly unfriendly. There being safety in numbers, Yasmin welcomed them with enthusiasm nevertheless, and the men themselves seemed only too happy to have found a large caravan traveling in their direction.

“They're on their way back to their village,” Sally informed me that night. “It's a long ways off, way beyond Dahlkari. Ahmed talked to them. They're a fierce-looking lot, all right, but they're as nervous as everyone else.”

“I don't understand why—”

“Thugs,” Sally said meaningfully.

“Nonsense.”

“They swoop down on travelers out of the blue and strangle the lot of 'em with scarves, bury 'em in the ground and make off with all their money and jewels. Many a caravan has simply disappeared, just like that, leaving a town one day and never heard of again. These Thugs belong to a cult that worships the goddess Kali, and—”

“I've heard all about the Thugs, Sally,” I said impatiently, “and I'm sure it's all been highly exaggerated. Captain William Sleeman uncovered their foul practices several years ago, and he's been working all this time to rid the country of them. Thousands of Thugs have been arrested over the years, and the danger has been thoroughly eliminated.”