The Far Pavilions (70 page)

The old man had been far too preoccupied with the impropriety and hazards of such a meeting to give much thought as to what exactly might be said at it, or why the Sahib should have been so insistent that only he could say it; which was unfortunate for Kaka-ji, as had he done so he might have been better prepared for what followed – or taken strong measures to prevent it altogether. As it was, that pleasant glow of complacency lasted only as long as the time it took Ash to adjust his eyes to the light and make out Anjuli's shrouded figure, standing motionless among the shadows beyond the lamp.

She had not removed her bourka and as its brown folds matched the canvas walls behind her, for a moment or two he did not realize that she was there, though he was aware of Kaka-ji sitting cross-legged and unobtrusive at the far side of the tent. The slight draught of his own entrance had set the pierced bronze lamp swaying, so that it sent a dazzle of golden stars across the walls and floor. The dancing points of light confused his eyes and made the shadows shift and sway and take on a dozen different shapes, and it was not until they steadied again that he saw that one of those shadows was Anjuli.

The sound of a
lathi
and a chain falling to the floor was disproportionately loud in that waiting silence, and though Kaka-ji was not an imaginative man, it seemed to him in that moment as though something vital and elemental quivered between those two silent figures: an emotion so intense as to be almost visible, and that drew them towards each other as irresistibly as a magnet and steel. He watched, rigid, as they moved on the same instant, and as they met, saw Ash put out a hand to lift the bourka and throw it back from Anjuli's face…

They neither spoke nor touched each other. They only looked, long and hungrily, and as though looking were enough and there was no one else in the tent, or in the world. And there was that in their faces that made speech unnecessary, for no words and no actions – not even the most passionate of embraces – could have conveyed love so clearly.

Kaka-ji caught his breath and attempted to rise, moved by some hazy notion of throwing himself between them and breaking the spell. But his legs refused to obey him and he was forced to stay where he was, cold with dismay and unable to do anything but stare in stunned disbelief; and when at last the Sahib spoke, to listen with horror.

Ash said softly: ‘It's no good, my dear love. You cannot marry him. Even if it were safe for you to do so after so much delay; and that is something you have not told me yet. Would it have been safe?’

Anjuli did not pretend to misunderstand him. She nodded wordlessly: but the small gesture of negation was so desolate that he was ashamed of his own involuntary spasm of relief. He said: ‘I'm sorry' – the words caught on a tightness in his throat and sounded dry and inadequate.

‘I too,’ whispered Anjuli. ‘More than I can ever say.’ Her lips quivered and she controlled them with a visible effort and bent her head so that her mouth and chin were in shadow: ‘Is – is that why you wished to see me?’

‘Partly. But there is something else. He does not want you, my Heart. He only agreed to take you because he could not get Shushila on any other terms, and because your brother bribed him to do so with a large sum of money, and asked no bride-price for you.’

‘I know’ – Anjuli's voice was as quiet as his own. ‘I have known it from the first. There are few things that can be kept secret from the Women's Quarter.’

‘And you did not mind?’

She raised her head and looked at him dry-eyed, but her lovely mouth was pinched and drawn. ‘A little. But what difference does that make? You must know that I was given no choice – and that even if I had been, I should still have come.’

‘For Shu-shu's sake. Yes, I know. But now the Rana says that the bribe he accepted from your brother was insufficient, and that unless nearly three times more is paid he will not wed you.’

Her eyes dilated and she put a hand up to her throat, but she did not speak, and Ash said harshly: ‘Well, we have not that sum to spare, and even if we had, I could not authorize such payment without instructions from your brother, who from all I hear would never agree to pay it – and rightly. Yet I do not think that he will demand the return of both his sisters. The cost of this journey has been so great that I am very much afraid that when he has thought it over he will decide that it will be wiser in the long run to swallow the affront, and let the Rana's marriage with Shushila take place.’

‘And… what of me?’ asked Juli in a whisper.

‘You would be sent back to Karidkote. But without your dowry, which the Rana is certain to claim as compensation for the loss of a bride that he does not want. That is, unless we are prepared to risk bloodshed to prevent him getting his hands on it.’

‘But – but he cannot do that,’ breathed Anjuli. ‘It is against our law.’

‘What law? The only law here in Bhithor is the Rana's.’

‘I speak of Manu's law, which even he, as a Hindu, must obey. In that law it is laid down that a bride's jewels serve as her
istri-dhan
(inheritance) and may not be taken away from her. It was written by Manu that “
The ornaments which may be worn by women during their husband's life time, his heir shall not divide. Those who divide them shall be outcasts.
” ’

‘But you are not his wife, so he need not regard that law. Nor will he do so,’ said Ash grimly.

‘But… I cannot go back. You know I cannot… I could not leave Shu-shu.’

‘You will have no choice.’

‘That is not true.’ Her voice rose and she stepped back from him, and said breathlessly: ‘The Rana may refuse to wed me, but he will not refuse to let me stay and take care of Shu-shu, as – as a waiting-woman, or an
ayah
if need be. If he keeps my dowry it will surely pay for what little food I eat, even if I should live to be old, and when he sees that unless I stay with her his wife will pine and die, he will be glad to keep me, while as for Nandu, I know very well that he will not want me back, for after this who is there who would wish to marry one whom the Rana of Bhithor has rejected?’

‘There is one,’ said Ash quietly.

Anjuli's face crumpled like a hurt child's, and she turned sharply away from him and said in a suffocated whisper: ‘I know… But that cannot be, and therefore… you will tell any who ask that I will not go back to Karidkote and that no one can make me do so. And that if I cannot stay in Bhithor as my sister's co-wife, I will stay as her servant. That is all I have to say. Except… except to thank you for warning me, and for all…’

Her voice failed, and she moved her head in a small, helpless gesture that was more pitiful than words, and with shaking hands began to draw the bourka back into place.

For a moment – for just as long as a tear might take to gather and fall – Ash hesitated. Then he reached out and grasped her shoulders, and snatching away the bourka, pulled her round to face him. The sight of her wet cheeks sent a physical pain through his heart and made him speak with more violence than he had intended:

‘Don't be a fool, Juli! Do you imagine for a moment that he will not bed you if you stay here as Shu-shu's servant instead of his wife? Of course he will. Once you are under his roof you will be just as much his property as if he had married you, but without the status of a Rani – or any status at all. He will be able to do exactly as he likes with you, and from what I have seen of him it will probably appeal to his vanity to use the daughter of a Maharajah as a concubine, having rejected her as a wife. Can't you see that your position would be intolerable?’

‘It has often been that,’ returned Anjuli with more composure. ‘Yet I have borne with it. And I can do so again. But Shu-shu –’

‘Oh, damn Shu-shu!’ interrupted Ash explosively. His grip tightened and he shook her so savagely that her teeth chattered. ‘It's no use, Juli. I won't let you. I thought I could, but I hadn't seen him then. You don't know what he's like. He's old –
old.
Oh, not in years, perhaps, but in every other way: in body and face, and in evil. He's rotted with vice. You cannot mate with a creature like that – a hideous, heartless, hairless ape who has shown himself to be without honour or scruples. Do you want to breed monsters? because that is what you'll do: misshapen monsters – and bastards at that. You cannot risk it.’

A spasm of pain contorted Anjuli's wet, tear-streaked face, but her voice was soft and steady and inflexible. ‘I must. You know why. Even if you should be right about his vanity, it will surely satisfy him to be able to treat me as a servant without troubling himself to use me as he would a concubine, and my life will not be too unhappy. I shall at least be of help to my sister, whereas back in Karidkote there would be nothing for me: only disgrace and sorrow, for Nandu would vent his anger on me even more than he will on all those who will be returning there.’

‘You speak as though you had no other choice,’ said Ash. ‘But that is not so, and you know it. Oh, my love – my Heart's-delight' – his voice broke - ‘come away with me. We could be so happy, and there is nothing for you here. Nothing but servitude and humiliation and – no, don't say it, I know that Shushila will be here – but I've told you before that you are wrong about her, that she's a spoilt child who has learned that tears and hysteria will get her almost everything she wants, and so she uses them as weapons, selfishly and ruthlessly to gain her own ends. And she won't even need you after a time, or even miss you – not when she is Rani of Bhithor with a host of women at her beck and call, or when she has children of her own to love and spoil, and play with. And what about me? What if
I
cannot live without you?… Shu-shu isn't the only one who needs you, Heart's-dearest – I need you too… far more than she does. Oh, Juli -’

The tears were running down Anjuli's cheeks, blinding her eyes and choking her voice so that for a time she could not speak; but she shook her head and presently she said in a broken whisper: ‘You told me so before, and I said… I said then that you were strong but that Shu-shu is weak, and so… so I cannot betray her. And if the Rana is as you say, it will be worse for her. You know that I love you… more than anyone… more than life… But – I love her too; and you are wrong when you say she does not need me. She has always needed me. Now, more than ever. And so I cannot… I cannot…’

Once again her voice failed her, and Ash realized with a terrible, sick despair that he would have stood more chance if he had lied to her – made her believe that the Rana was handsome and fascinating, and that Shu-shu could not fail to fall madly in love with him and be far better off without any intrusive half-sister making a third in their blissful life together. Had Juli believed that she might have weakened. But the truth had been fatal because it had shown her only too clearly what lay in store for Shushila – for whom there was no prospect of escape. And being Juli, that was enough to stiffen her resolution and make it appear even more necessary, now, to stay and do everything possible to sustain and comfort and encourage the frightened little sister who must marry a monster. He should have known better, and he had not…

The realization of failure invaded his brain and body in a cold wave, taking his strength from him, so that his hands relaxed their grip and fell from Anjuli's shoulders and he could only stand and stare at her. She stood before him; tall and slender and lovely in the lamplight. And royal – a princess who would become a waiting-maid…

The silence began to fill with little sounds: the flutter of moths about the hanging lamp, the creak of a guy-rope and Anjuli's soft, sobbing breaths; and through them Ash could hear the thumping of his own heart and was surprised to find that it could still beat. Unless it was Juli's heart that he could hear. For an endless interval he studied her drawn face and wide, tear-blurred eyes in a passion of love and pain, until suddenly he could bear it no longer, and reaching out he snatched her into his arms and covered her face with desperate kisses, crushing her to him in the wild hope that physical contact might accomplish what words had failed to do, and break her resistance.

For a time it almost seemed as though he had won. Her arms flew up to circle his neck and he felt her hands pressing the back of his neck while she clung to him with a desperation that equalled his own, and turned up her mouth to meet and return those frantic kisses. Time stopped and stood still for them. They had forgotten Kaka-ji, and everything and everyone else. The world had narrowed down into a charmed and timeless circle in which they were alone together, clinging so closely that it seemed to the old man who watched them that their two figures had merged into one and become a single entity – a flame or a shadow, swayed by an invisible wind…

It was Anjuli who broke the spell. Her arms slid down and she leaned back, and forcing her hands between their two bodies, pressed her palms against Ash's breast to push him away from her. And though he could so easily have held her, he did not try to do so. He knew that he was beaten. Shushila's weakness had proved stronger than his love and his own need, and there was nothing left to say. And nothing else he could do, for he had long ago abandoned any idea of abducting Juli – recognizing that even with her consent the chances of success would be minimal and the risks appalling, while without it there could be no chance at all: only the certainty of death for both of them.

He released her and stood back, and watched her stoop to grope blindly for her bourka. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had difficulty in putting it on, and when she had done so she paused for a moment, holding back the voluminous folds from her face, to gaze at him with the terrible concentration of one who looks for the last time at a beloved face before the coffin-lid is closed upon it, as though she were imprinting him on her memory; learning him by heart so that she would never forget a single detail of feature or expression – the colour of his eyes and the slant of his brows, the set of a mouth that could be grave or grim or astonishingly tender, and the deep un-youthful lines that Belinda and George and life and death in the Border country beyond the North-West Frontier had scored on either side of it. The texture of his skin and the single dark lock of hair that habitually fell across his forehead and and half hid a jagged, silvery scar that had been made by an Afghan knife –