Heat and Dust (17 page)

“I told you: psychological.”

“You may be right. I'm certainly feeling quite psychological . . . In fact I'm feeling,” he said, shutting his eyes again but this time in pain, “as if I couldn't stand it another day.” And he sounded as if he really couldn't.

She tried to be sympathetic but could not overcome her impatience. For one thing, she was so impatient to be off! And he just sat there, not wanting to move. From the servant quarters came the sound of a voice chanting and a drum being beaten in accompaniment, both on one flat note and without pause in absolute monotony.

“It's like brain fever,” Harry said.

“What? . . . Oh, that. I don't hear it any more. It's been going on for days. There's always something like that going on in the quarters. Someone dying or getting born
or married. I think it may be why I don't play the piano much any more. I mean, it doesn't exactly harmonise, does it . . . Harry, we must go or we'll die of heat on the road.”

“I don't want to go,” he said.

She had a moment of panic. Her voice trembled: “What about the car?”

“We'll send it back.”

Olivia stared at the tips of her white shoes. She sat very still. Harry watched her but she pretended not to notice. At last he said: “What's the matter with you, Olivia?” He spoke very gently. “Why are you so eager to go?”

“We're expected.” Hearing how lame that sounded, she became more irritated with him: “And you don't think I
like
sitting around here all day, day after day, staring at the wall and waiting for Douglas to come home, do you? I can well see how people can go batty that way . . . like Mrs. Saunders. Just sitting inside the house and imagining things. I don't want to become like Mrs. Saunders. But if I go on sitting here by myself, I shall.”

“Is that why you like to come to the Palace?”

“Douglas knows I go to the Palace. He knew about Dr. Saunders coming there – he spoke to him himself – and that I'd been to see you.”

“Yes, to see
me
.”

This hung on the air and did not cease to do so after she replied “You're jealous, Harry, that's what it is. Yes you are!” She laughed. “You want to be the
only
one – I mean,” she said, “in the Palace, the only guest there.” She said this last bit quickly but not quickly enough. She was blushing now and felt entangled.

“All right,” he said. “We'll go.”

He got up and moved to the door, putting on his solar
topee. She felt that now – out of pride, or to prove her innocence – she ought to be the one to hang back. She hesitated for a moment but found that she did not, after all, have enough pride (or innocence) for that. She followed him quite quickly to the car.

That journey was uncomfortable, and not only because of heat and dust. They hardly spoke, as if angry with each other. Yet Olivia was not angry, and once or twice she did try to talk to him but what came out might as well have been left unsaid. She could not bring herself to speak about what was disturbing her – she was afraid that, if she did, she might say more than she meant; or he might misinterpret whatever it was she did mean.

Suddenly Harry said “There he is.”

A red open sports car was parked across the road. As they approached, the Nawab, wearing a checked cap and motorist's goggles, stood up in it and made traffic policeman gestures. They stopped, he said “Where have you been? I have been waiting and waiting.”

He had come to meet them because he wanted to go to Baba Firdaus' shrine. He was tired of being shut up in the Palace, he said. He invited them to climb into his sports car which he was driving himself. When Harry said he didn't feel like it, he wanted to go home, the Nawab wasted no more time on him but said “You come, Olivia.”

She too wasted no time on Harry but got in beside the Nawab. They drove away in one direction while the chauffeur drove Harry in the other. He could be seen sitting alone at the back of the limousine, looking pale and cross.

“Why is he so cross?” the Nawab asked Olivia. “Do you think he is ill? Is he ill? Has he said anything to you?”

He was deeply concerned and continued, for most of the
way, to talk about Harry. He said he knew Harry was often homesick and wanted to go back to England to see his mother; and the Nawab wanted him to go but at the same time – “Olivia, can you understand this, does it sound very selfish”-he could not bring himself to part with him. “I can see you think I am very selfish,” he concluded sadly.

She knew it was not necessary to contradict. Her role was to listen and she was content with that; also to be next to him and sometimes to steal a look at him where he sat dressed up in cap and goggles and steering his car.

“Often I have wanted to say to him: ‘Harry, your Mother wants you at home, you also want to be with her: go.' Sometimes I
have
said. Once everything was done, his berth booked, his baggage packed. At the last moment I broke down. I could not tolerate this parting. Then it was he who said ‘no I shall stay' . . . Now we have to get out and walk, will it be too hot for you, Olivia?”

He led the way up the rocky path to Baba Firdaus' grove. He went on talking and she listened to him and so did not much feel the sun beating down.

He said “There are certain people who if they are absent life becomes hard to bear. Once I asked a fakir from Ajmere (a very holy person): ‘Why
these
people? Why they and not others?' He gave me the following reply which I like very much: ‘These are the people who once sat close to you in Paradise.' It is a beautiful idea, isn't it, Olivia? That we sat close to each other once in Paradise.”

They had arrived in the grove. He parted the branches for her, they entered. But just as they did so, some men emerged from the shrine. Olivia had a shock. They were rough and armed and for a moment they stared dangerously at the Nawab and Olivia. But next moment, realising who it was,
they fell at the Nawab's feet.

He told Olivia to sit under a tree. She watched him talk to the men. He was easy and familiar with them. They stood before him in an attitude of humility and with a look of adoration on their desperado faces. She was quite sure they were desperadoes. She studied them – they looked like mediaeval bandits – but not once did they dare glance in her direction. The Nawab dismissed them quite soon, then called her into the shrine.

“Look what I have brought,” he said.

He held two lengths of red string. She tied hers first, then he tied his. Afterwards he asked “What did you wish?”

“Is one supposed to tell?”

“If there is only one person there with you . . . You know what women come here for? What they wish? Is that what you wished also?”

“Yes, “she said.

“Ah.”

There was a silence; then he said: “It is all superstition. But perhaps it is true. It may be true; there are many stories of miracles that have happened. You have heard the story of the Husband's Wedding Day? Of course it is all quite unscientific, and educated people like you and I –”

“Still we did tie strings.”

“Only for fun.”

“Who were those men?”

He didn't answer at once, and when he did, it was with another question: “Who do you think they were?” He gave her one of his shrewd looks, then laughed: “I suppose you think they are bad men. You must have heard many stories, I think, isn't it, and you believe they are true.” Again she felt she did not have to defend herself or answer him.

“But if they are bad men,” he went on, “I think they can't be so very bad because look what they have come here for.” He pointed to the mound in the shrine on which some fresh garlands had just been laid and sticks of incense were still smouldering. “You see, they did not come for any bad purpose but to pay their devotions.”

He looked at her as if testing her reaction. But she had no reaction, only some very strong physical sensations. The vast simmering plain of heat surrounding the grove trickled here and there through the leaves. The Nawab's overwhelming presence was concentrated now on her alone.

“Come,” he said. “Sit with me.”

Both sat on the step leading into the shrine. He spoke to her in a gentle, reasoning voice: “Yes perhaps they are outlaws, it is true, but still they are human beings who come here – you see – to pray and tell their wishes. Like you and I also.” He was silent for a while, as if to let her feel the truth of his words; or perhaps the communion between himself and her, to let that sink in.

“When we go from here, Olivia, will you go back to Satipur and say yes, the Nawab is a bad person, now I have seen with my own eyes that he meets with outlaws, dacoits – he is hand in glove with them. You will go back and say that, Olivia?”

Now he was really waiting for an answer, and she did not hesitate to give him one. “Do you really believe I'd do that,” she said with such sincerity – indeed, indignation – that he was satisfied with her. He respectfully touched her arm with his finger-tips.

“No I don't believe,” he said. “And this is why I open my heart to you and tell you everything . . . Don't think please that I want you to say only he is a very good person, a fine
and noble soul. Not at all. Of course I would like to be a fine and noble soul – it is necessary for all of us to strive for this – but also I know how far I am from such a goal. Yes very far indeed,” he said and looked discouraged.

“Who isn't,” Olivia said. He touched her arm in the same way as before, and partly she wished he wouldn't and partly she longed for him to do it again.

“You are right. We are all far from it. But there are some people – many people,” he said, pausing to let her think who they were: “They make themselves into judges over others, saying this is good, this bad, as if they are all-knowing. Who is Major Minnies that he should say to me don't do this, and don't do that, who has given him the right to say this to me? To
me
!” he said, incredulously pointing at himself. “To the Nawab Sahib of Khatm.” He was speechless for a moment.

“Do you know how we got our title? It was in 1817. My ancestor, Amanullah Khan, had been fighting for many, many years. Sometimes he fought the Mahrattas, sometimes the Rajputs or the Moghuls or the British. Those were very disturbed times. He went from place to place with his men, wherever there was fighting and booty to be picked up. They had to live, all of them! Sometimes, when he did not have the wherewithal to pay his soldiers, they mutinied against him and then he had to flee not from the enemy but from his own men, can you imagine! But when things picked up for him again, they all came back and others also joined him. So sometimes he was very up and sometimes quite down. Such was his life. Olivia: I envy him. His name was feared by everyone – including the British! When they saw they could not subdue him by any means, then they wanted him for their ally. Oh they were always very cunning people and knew which way to take out their own advantage. They
offered him the lands and revenues of Khatm and also the title of Nawab. And because he was tired at that time, he said yes all right and he became a Nawab and sat down here. Because he was tired.” He became gloomy. “But I think you can get tired also sitting in a palace. Then you feel it would be better not to have anything but to fight your enemies and kill them. You feel you would like to do that very much. Don't you think, Olivia, it is better to meet your enemies in this way than to have them secretly plotting against you and whispering slanders? I think it is very much better!” he cried, suddenly very upset.

She put out her hand and laid it on his chest as if to soothe him. And really he was soothed; he said “How kind you are to me.” He laid his hand on top of hers and pressed it closer against his chest. She felt drawn to him by a strength, a magnetism that she had never yet in all her life experienced with anyone.

“Listen,” he said. “Once it happened that a Marwar prince did something to displease him. I think he did not offer opium out of the correct silver chalice – it was only a very small thing, but Amanullah Khan was not the man to sit quiet when insulted. Not like me.” When she began to protest, he said “I have to, what can I do. I am helpless . . . He invited this Marwar prince and all his retainers to a feast. A ceremonial tent was put up and all preparations made and the guests came ready to eat and drink. Amanullah Khan greeted his enemy at the door of the tent and folded him to his heart. But when they were all inside, he gave a secret sign and his men cut the ropes of the tent and the Marwar prince and all his party were entangled within the canvas. When they were trapped there like animals, Amanullah Khan and his men took their daggers and stabbed with them through
the canvas again and again till there was not one enemy left alive. We still have that tent and the blood is so fresh and new, Olivia, it is as if it had happened yesterday.” He must have felt that she was trying to remove her hand from his heart so he held it against himself tighter. She could not escape him now, even if she had wanted to.

“Not here,” he said. He led her away from the shrine and they lay together under a tree. Afterwards he made a joke: “It is the secret of the Husband's Wedding Day,” he said.

“Then what did you make me tie the string for?” she asked.

He laughed and laughed, well pleased with her.