The Far Pavilions (106 page)

‘No. Not if, when,’ thought Ash soberly, for he had remembered something: a voice from the past saying
‘The Sahib-log do not understand that Truth should be used sparingly, and they call us liars because when we of this country are asked questions by strangers, we prefer to lie first and then consider whether the truth could have served us better.’
And another more recent one that said, ‘It don't do to believe more than a fraction of what these people tell you, for most of 'em will always tell a lie rather than speak the truth, and trying to find out what really happened is like drawing eye-teeth or hunting for that proverbial needle in a haystack.’

He would have to come back. There was no ‘if' about it, for were the others to return to Gujerat without him there was no knowing what trouble they might find themselves involved in, because their story could so easily be disbelieved (or at best dismissed as the exaggerated out-pourings of a hysterical widow, her uncle's hakim and his servant, and a local breeder of horses, none of whom could speak a word of English). Officialdom, as he had good reason to know, was never very easy to convince; and if there was one thing he could be certain of it was that everyone in Bhithor, from the Diwan to the lowliest palace servant, could be counted upon to lie like a trooper in order to conceal the truth. It was even possible that his friends might end up being suspected of murdering him for the sake of his shot-gun and rifle, should he fail to return.

For a moment Ash was almost tempted to go back. But he did not do so. Sarji had many friends in Gujerat and his family was not without influence in the province, while Juli was a princess in her own right, and both she and Gobind would have the support of her brother Jhoti, who was Maharajah of Karidkote. It was the height of absurdity to imagine that they would not be able to manage without him.

He found Bukta strategically ensconced between two large boulders, with his front protected by a flat-topped rock on which he had rested the barrel of his rifle. There were gaps in his cartridge belt and spent cases on the ground about him; and out in the valley a number of frightened horses galloped to and fro with empty saddles and trailing reins, their late riders lying still among the stones and dust, in proof of Sarji's statement that Bukta did not miss. But though the opposition had been drastically reduced it had not been eliminated, and those who survived had taken cover and were returning Bukta's fire.

Their antique weapons could not compare in the matter of range and accuracy with the Lee-Enfield, but they had the advantage of numbers. They could fire four or five shots to every one of Bukta's, and the fusillade that spattered around him filled the air with flying chips of rock, spurts of dust and showers of small stones, and made it too dangerous for him to venture into the open. He could retreat in safety, but that was all; and though the enemy were in no better case, they had time on their side, and reinforcements on the way.

Bukta glanced briefly at Ash and said: ‘Go back, Sahib. You can do no good here. You and the others must go quickly into the hills. It is your only chance. We cannot hope to stand against an army, and there are many coming – look there.’

But Ash had already seen. It was indeed an army that was spurring towards them down the valley. The low sunlight glinted on lances, tulwars and jezails, and judging by the size of the dust-cloud that whirled up behind the advancing horde, half the forces of the state had been sent to recapture the widowed Rani and her rescuers. They were still a long way off, but they would be here all too soon.

A bullet smacked into the rock within inches of Ash's head and he ducked to avoid the shower of splinters and said curtly: ‘We cannot go without a guide. You know that, Bukta. I will stay here in your place while you get the others away. Now go quickly.’

Bukta did not waste time arguing. He wriggled out backwards, and standing up in the lee of a boulder, slapped the dust from his clothes, and said briefly: ‘Do not let anyone get too close, Sahib. Keep them at a distance and fire as often as you can so that they will be unable to tell how many of us are here among the rocks. When it is dark, come away, and if I can I will come back and meet you.’

‘You will have to bring one of the horses, for if Manilal is hurt -’

‘He is dead,’ said Bukta shortly, ‘– and but for him, all of you would be too, for those dogs were so close on your heels that you could not have dismounted without being overtaken; and I could not fire. But the Hakim's servant rode into them and brought down the leading riders, and fell himself, and as he lay on the ground one coming up behind him smote his head from his body. May he be reborn a prince and a warrior. I will come back for you after moonrise. If not…’ He shrugged and went away, and Ash lay down behind the flat-topped rock and surveyed the battle-ground, rifle and shot-gun at the ready.

The reinforcements, though much closer now, were still out of range. But one of the original posse, finding that a full two minutes had gone by without a shot being fired by the marksman among the rocks, took this to mean that he must either be dead or had run out of ammunition, and sustained by this belief was incautious enough to show himself. Ash's carbine cracked and the man jerked upright as though pulled by an unseen wire and fell back dead. After that his remaining comrades were careful to keep their heads well down while continuing to fire wildly in the general direction of the rockfall, which allowed Ash to give his full attention to the oncoming horsemen.

The cavalry carbine was accurate up to three hundred yards, though beyond that its effects were more a matter of luck than skill. But remembering Bukta's advice, Ash began to fire into the brown at extreme range, and with deadly effect, for a target provided by upwards of fifty men riding ten to fifteen abreast, and bunched together in a solid phalanx, is one that is almost impossible to miss.

Even at that distance the first shot told, and though it was difficult to see if it was man or a horse that had been hit, the formation disintegrated as if by magic, and a dust-cloud spread out to cover the mêlée as some riders reined in hard and those behind crashed into them, while others swerved out of harm's way and milled around in the smother.

Ash added to the confusion by continuing to fire, and he was reloading for the sixth time when a hand touched his shoulder and he spun round, his heart in his mouth. ‘
Sarji
! Oh God, you frightened me. What the hell do you think you're doing? Didn't I tell you –’ He stopped in mid-sentence for behind Sarji stood Gobind.

Another fusillade of shots whined overhead but he did not heed them: ‘What is it? What has happened?’

‘Nothing,’ said Sarji, reaching out to take the carbine from him. ‘It is only that we have decided that you must be the one to go on ahead with the Rani-Sahiba, for if there should… if things go wrong, you, being a Sahib, can speak better for her and for us all to your countrymen, and obtain justice from the Government. It is three to one, Ashok, for Bukta too agrees that it is wiser so. He will go with you and see that you travel in safety. Now leave us and go; they are waiting for you and will not start until you come.’

‘But Gobind cannot use a rifle,’ began Ash. ‘He –’

‘I can load them,’ said Gobind, ‘and with two rifles your friend will be able to fire quicker than you could do, so that perhaps those out there will come to believe that there are more of us than they thought, and be less bold in consequence. Do not waste time, Sahib, but go swiftly and get the Rani-Sahiba to safety. You need not fear for us, as it will be dark soon, and until then we can hold this place against all Bhithor. Take this with you' – he thrust a small packet into Ash's hand – ‘and now go.’

Ash looked from one face to the other, and what he saw there made him realize the futility of argument. Besides, they were right, because it was what he had thought himself. He could probably do more for Juli than they could. He said: ‘Be careful.’

‘We will,’ said Sarji. Their hands met in a hard grip and they smiled at each other, the same fleeting tight-lipped smile. Gobind nodded in dismissal and Ash turned obediently and left them.

There was another burst of musketry from the invisible enemy and he heard the rifle crash in reply, and broke into a run…

The narrow slit between the rocks had been easier to negotiate now that he was no longer burdened by firearms and ammunition, and at the far side of it Bukta and Anjuli stood waiting for him. He had only to mount Dagobaz and pull Juli up behind him and canter away down the shadowed canyon in the wake of Bukta's little cat-footed pony.

The sound of firing faded and presently all they could hear was the beat of their horses' hooves, the creak and jingle of saddles and bridles, and the croon of the evening breeze blowing through the dry grasses on the hillside. And it was only as they began to climb that he remembered the packet that Gobind had given him, and taking it out, saw that it was the letters he had written last night. All of them. And realized the significance of that. But by then it was too late to turn back, even if he could have done so.

They climbed steadily until the valley lay well below them and hidden from sight by a sea of grassy spurs and high ridges, where the air was no longer tainted by dust and the wind blew cooler. But Bukta showed no sign of halting and pressed on swiftly, leading them forward and upward along paths that to Ash's eyes appeared almost invisible, and across long slopes of shale where they must dismount and lead the horses, whose hooves slipped and slithered among the loose stones.

The sun set in a blaze of gold and amber, and suddenly the sky was green and the corn-coloured hills were blue and indigo and violet – and there below them, cupped in its rocky hollow and half hidden by its solitary palm tree, the lonely pool glinted in the last of the light.

Bukta had led them unerringly to the sole small spot in all those barren hills where they could slake their thirst and gain the energy to press on. But for one of them it was to prove the end of the road…

Dagobaz could not have seen the water, for Ash had been leading him. But he must have smelt it, and he too was parched with thirst – and very tired. Bukta's pony, who was familiar with rough country and had not lacked rest or water that day, went down the steep and stony slope as lightly as a cat. But Dagobaz, made incautious by thirst, had been less sure-footed. He had plunged forward eagerly, taking his tired owner unawares, and before Ash could do anything to check him he was sliding helplessly downwards, struggling to keep his footing in a welter of dry earth and loose stones, dragging Ash with him and falling at last among the rocks at the water's edge.

Anjuli had managed to jump to safety and Ash had suffered no more than a few minor cuts and bruises. But Dagobaz could not get on his feet; his right fore-leg had snapped and there was nothing that anyone could do for him.

Had this happened in the plains it might have been possible to have him conveyed to Sarji's farm, where he could have been treated by an experienced veterinary surgeon; and though he would always have been lame and could never have been ridden again, he could at least have spent the rest of his life in honourable retirement among the shade trees in the pastures. But here there was no hope for him.

At first Ash had refused to believe it. And when he did, it was as though everything that had happened that day – the long hours of waiting on the terrace of the
chattri,
the killing of Shushila, the headlong flight down the valley and the death of Manilal – had been building up to this moment, bit by bit, until the accumulated weight had become intolerable. Now it crashed down upon him, beating him to his knees beside the fallen horse, and he took the dusty, sweat-streaked head into his arms and hiding his face against it, wept as he had only done once before in all his life – on the morning that Sita had died.

There is no knowing how long he would have remained there, for he had lost all consciousness of time. But at last a hand gripped his shoulder and Bukta's voice said sternly: ‘Enough, Sahib! It grows dark, and we must leave this place while we can still see to do so, for it is overlooked on every side, and should we be caught here we should be trapped without hope of escape. We cannot stop until we reach higher ground, where we shall be safer.’

Ash rose unsteadily, and stood for a moment or two with closed eyes, striving for control. Then he stooped to remove bit and headband and loosen the girth so that Dagobaz might be more comfortable. Untying the water-bottle from its fastening, he emptied the luke-warm contents on the ground and taking it to the pool, refilled it with cool water.

He had forgotten his own needs, but he knew that Dagobaz had been lured to disaster by thirst, and that at least should be assuaged. The black horse was dazed and in pain, and very weary, but he took the water gratefully, and when the flask was empty, Ash handed it over his shoulder to be refilled without looking round or realizing that it was not Bukta but Anjuli who stood beside him and filled it again and again.

Bukta was keeping an anxious eye on the fast-fading light, and when he saw that Dagobaz would take no more, he came forward and said: ‘Leave this to me, Sahib. He will feel nothing, I promise you. Put the Rani-Sahiba on my pony and go on a little way.’

Ash turned his head and said harshly: ‘There is no need. If I can shoot a young woman I knew well, I can surely do the same for my horse.’

He took out the revolver, but Bukta stretched out a hand for it and said gravely: ‘No, Sahib. It is better that I should do this.’

Ash stared back at him for a long moment, and then he sighed deeply and said: ‘Yes, you are right. But you will have to do it while I am here, for if I go away he will try to get up and follow me.’

Bukta nodded, and Ash relinquished the revolver and knelt to gentle Dagobaz's weary head and whisper loving words in his ear. Dagobaz nuzzled him and whickered softly in reply, and when the shot came he jerked once. And that was all.

‘Come,’ said Bukta shortly. ‘It is time we left. Do we take the saddle and bridle?’