The Far Pavilions (95 page)

Sarji had been in Bhithor for five days, but two had been more than enough to convince him that Ash's account of its ruler and his people had not been exaggerated; and that night, for the first time, it occurred to him that this masquerade on which he had embarked so light-heartedly was likely to prove a far more dangerous affair than he had imagined, and that if that fat and cunning man Manilal failed to return to Bhithor, the odds on his own chances of leaving it alive were too small to be worth betting on.

Lying awake in the hot darkness and listening to Ash's quiet breathing and the reverberating snores of the dumb youth in the shop below, Sarji shivered and wished fervently that he was back in his own safe and pleasant house among the lush green fields and banana groves near Janapat. Life was good, and he had no wish to die, particularly at the hands of these medieval-minded Bhithoris. He heard a horse snort and stamp and a hoof thud against the wooden side of the shed as Dagobaz or his own Moti Raj lashed out angrily at some foraging rat or mongoose, and the sounds reminded him that there was still a way of escape open to them: Bukta's road. That at least was neither closed nor guarded, and tomorrow, if the fat servant again failed to put in an appearance, he, Sarji, would put his foot down.

He would have a straight talk with Ashok, and make him see that in the circumstances it was futile to invite suspicion and discovery by remaining any longer in Bhithor, and that their wisest course would be to leave by the way they had come and make for Ajmer by way of Deesa and Sirohi. True, this would take time, as it involved a considerable detour. But once there Ashok, in his own guise, would be able to see and speak to senior representatives of the Political Department and the police, explain the situation and inform them (if they did not already know it) that Bhithor had sealed itself off from the outside world and was now virtually a fortress.

Sarji distrusted the telegraph and all new-fangled means of communication, and was not in the least surprised that his friend's wires had evoked no response. A letter delivered by a trustworthy peon was, in his opinion, far more reliable. And better still was a face-to-face talk, for that way there could be no mistakes.

But as it happened there was no need for them to go to Ajmer, for Manilal was already in Bhithor. He had arrived late that evening, just as the gates were closing. And on the following morning he went to the bazaar to make some small purchases, where he fell into conversation with two visitors to the city: a tall, lean-faced man from Baroda and a small-boned Gujerati, who were debating the rival merits of mangoes and papayas with the owner of a fruit shop.

40

Gobind had not been pleased to see the Sahib.

The doctor from Karidkote had hoped against hope that when Manilal returned it would be with news that help was on the way, and during the past week he had looked to see the Political Officer or some senior Police-Sahib ride up to the Elephant Gate with a strong contingent of armed men at their back. Instead, he learned that Pelham-Sahib, having sent off several urgent telegrams that had not been answered, had insisted against all advice on coming to Bhithor himself, and was presumably at that moment somewhere in the city, disguised, and accompanied by a Gujerati friend posing as his servant.

Gobind's dismay at official lethargy was only equalled by his alarm at this disclosure, and though he seldom lost his temper, he did so now for which he could be forgiven, as he had been living under considerable strain and Ash's presence only increased it. Gobind could not see that any good purpose could be served by the Sahib coming to Bhithor at this juncture unless he had been able to do so openly, and with the full backing of the Government. It was a piece of suicidal folly, for apart from the fact that he could do no good, if he were to be recognized he would certainly be killed; and not one of his own people would ever know what had happened to him, since according to Manilal he had left without telling anyone of his intentions.

The whole venture, in Gobind's opinion, was foolhardy to the point of madness, and could only add a further hazard to a situation that was already fraught with more dangers than he cared to contemplate. He could not understand it. Until now he had regarded Pelham-Sahib as a man of sense, and would have expected him to make straight for Ajmer to discover for himself why his telegraphed warnings had not been answered, and what action had been taken or decided upon – not dress up as a Hindu and come play-acting to Bhithor, as though it were possible for one man to turn several thousand from their purpose.

‘He must leave at once,’ declared Gobind, turning on Manilal. ‘His presence here endangers us all: you and I and those few remaining waiting-women from Karidkote as well as the Ranis, whose peril is great enough already without this folly. If either he or his friend should be unmasked there is no one here who would not believe that we sent for him, and they will see to it that not one of us leaves Bhithor alive. He can do nothing here but much harm. You should have told him so, and done everything in your power to turn him from this madness.’

‘I did what I could,’ protested Manilal, ‘but his heart was set on it and he would not listen to me.’

‘He will listen to me,’ said Gobind grimly. ‘You shall bring him here tomorrow. But think carefully how you go about it, for as you know, we walk on egg-shells and cannot afford to draw attention to him or suspicion on ourselves.’

Manilal had been careful. The following morning, within an hour of his meeting Ash and Sarji at a fruit-stall, half the bazaar had learned from him that the man from Baroda had studied Ayurvedic medicine in the sacred city of Kashi (Benares) and had hopes of becoming a practitioner in that ancient science. So no one thought it strange that such a person should desire to meet and talk with a hakim of a different school, it being known that professional men of opposing views delighted in argument and discussion. He had taken special pains to see that anyone he suspected of spying on his master heard the tale, and in order to avoid any suggestion of secrecy, arranged that the visitor should call openly on the Hakim-Sahib – and in daylight.

This last had not been too easy, as shortly before the hour set for the visit, Gobind had been summoned to the palace, from where he had not returned until the late afternoon, tired and dispirited, and in no mood to receive guests, particularly one on whom he had pinned so many hopes, only to be disappointed.

He greeted Ash unsmilingly, accepted without comment his explanation as to why he had thought it necessary to come to Bhithor, and when he had finished, said in a colourless voice: ‘I had hoped that you would be able to summon help, and when none came I feared that a hawk must have slain the last pigeon before it won home, and that my servant here had either been stopped at the frontier and held on some trumped-up charge, or had met with an accident and failed to reach you. But it did not enter my mind that you could have dispatched warnings to the Sahib-log in Ajmer and to His Highness of Karidkote and my master the Rao-Sahib, and received no help from any quarter. It is beyond my understanding.’

‘And mine,’ confessed Ash bitterly.

‘If you ask me,’ said Sarji, who had accompanied Ash to the interview, ‘the clerk who accepted those telegrams was a rogue, and must have kept the money himself instead of sending on your messages. It would not be the first time that such a thing has happened, and –’

‘Oh, what does it matter what happened to them?’ interrupted Ash impatiently. ‘Something did, and that's the important thing. The point is, what do we do now?’

‘Leave at once for Ajmer,’ said Sarji promptly, repeating the solution he had arrived at during the watches of the night and already urged upon Ash. ‘And when we get there, demand to see the Agent-General-Sahib himself, and the police Sahibs too, and tell them –’

This time it was Gobind who cut him short. ‘It is too late for that, said Gobind curtly.

‘Because the frontiers are closed? But there is another way out of Bhithor. The way that we came in by. That is still open, for none here know of it.’

‘So my servant Manilal told me. But even if you could leave by any road you chose, it would still be too late. Because the Rana will die tonight.’

He heard Ash catch his breath in a gasp that was harshly audible in the stillness that followed, and turning to look at him, saw the blood drain from his face and realized with a sharp sense of incredulity that the Sahib was afraid, desperately afraid. And in the next moment, and with as much certainty as though it had been shouted aloud, he knew why –

So this was the reason for the Sahib's presence in Bhithor. Not mere foolishness and bravado, or an egotistical belief that no ‘black man’ would dare lay hands on a member of the conquering race, and that one
Angrezi
should be able to over-awe the Diwan and the council and put the fear of the Raj into the local inhabitants. No – the Sahib had come because he could not help it. Because he had to come. Manilal had spoken no more than the truth when he had said ‘his heart was set on it’.

It was a complication that Gobind would never have dreamed of, and the discovery appalled him as much as it had appalled Kaka-ji and Mahdoo, and for the same reasons. ‘A casteless man… a foreigner… a Christian,’ thought Gobind, shocked to the depths of his orthodox soul. This was what came of relaxing the rules of purdah and permitting young maidens to meet and talk freely with a strange man, Sahib or no. And when the man was young and well-looking and the maidens beautiful, what else could one expect? It should never have been allowed; and he blamed the Rao-Sahib and Mulraj and young Jhoti, and everyone else whose duty it had been to see to the safety and welfare of the future Ranis. Unpora-Bai most of all.

But he knew that such thoughts were futile. What was done was done; and in any case, there was no reason to suppose that the Sahib's feelings had been reciprocated, as in all probability the one to whom he had lost his heart had remained wholly unaware of it. Gobind could only hope so. But this sudden insight into the Sahib's motives did nothing to improve his own disquiet. It merely added to his anxiety, since who could tell what folly a man in love might be capable of committing?

For a space there was silence in the room, and even Sarji seemed unwilling to break it. Gobind watched the blood come slowly back to the Sahib's face and knew what he would say before he said it…

‘I must see the Diwan myself,’ said Ash at last. ‘That is our only chance.’

‘It will not serve,’ said Gobind curtly. ‘That much I can tell you now. If you think differently, then you do not know him, nor have you any understanding of the temper and disposition of his fellow councillors or the people of this city.’

‘Maybe. But I can at least warn him that if he permits the Ranis to burn, he and his fellow councillors will be held responsible, and that the Raj will send a Political-Sahib and a regiment from Ajmer to arrest him and to take over the state and make it a part of British India.’

‘He will not believe you,’ said Gobind quietly. ‘And he will be right: for even to so small and remote a place as this there has come talk of unrest in the north and of the
pultons
gathering for war. This you too must have heard as your own
pulton
will surely be among them, and having heard you must also know that the Raj will not move in this matter once it is done and cannot be undone. They will have no desire to stir up a hornets' nest in Rajasthan at a time when they have such grave matters as Afghanistan on their minds. And consider, Sahib: news of the suttee may not reach the ears of those in authority for many days – even weeks – and when it does, it will be too late to do more than send Spiller-Sahib to speak to the Diwan and council and perhaps impose a fine. But necks are not broken by hard words, and a fine can be paid from the Treasury or by means of a tax upon the people. Neither the Diwan nor his purse will suffer.’

‘There is also another thing,’ put in Sarji, addressing Ash. ‘Unless he is a fool he will know very well that you did not come here as an accredited spokesman of your Raj, for had you done so you would not have entered Bhithor secretly. Like a thief, and in disguise.’

‘That is so,’ confirmed Gobind. ‘And as the Diwan is not a fool, you will neither turn him from his purpose nor save the Ranis from the fire. You will only throw away your life to no purpose – and ours with it, for you and your friend have come openly to this house, which is watched, and once your identity is known, all our heads will fall to ensure that there is no one left to carry tales of your fate. Even those who gave you lodging will not be spared in case they might have noticed more than they should during the past few days, and be tempted to speak of it.’

Ash might have argued some of Gobind's previous statements, but he was forced to recognize the truth of this one; and to be silenced by it. Had it only been a question of risking his own life in an attempt to save Juli's, he would have done so gladly and without a second's thought. But he had no right to sacrifice the lives of eight other people (for the charcoal-seller and his wife would not be the only ones in that house to have their throats cut; all five would die for the crime of having rented him a room to lodge in).

He sat staring blindly out at the view beyond the window where the low sunlight glowed rose-red on the outer walls of the Rung Mahal, his mind desperately engaged with wild plans for rescuing Juli, each one more hazardous and impractical than the last…

If only he could find some way of getting into the palace he could shoot down the Zenana guard, and having barred the door behind him, snatch Juli from among her women and lower her over the walls on a rope and follow himself while the enemy battered on the door; and then… No, that was patently impossible-it would entail tying up a score of screaming women who if left at liberty would unbar the door the instant his back was turned. He would have to have help -

Between them, he and Sarji could muster five weapons, while Gobind and Manilal could surely contrive to get possession of a musket or two. Then if Gobind was right about the Rana, it should be possible, under cover of the confusion that would reign in the palace that night, for five determined men to force their way into the Zenana Quarters and liberate two women, as everyone who could would be in or near the dying man's room, and few would have any attention to spare for the women. Vigilance was bound to be relaxed, and it might even be possible to enter the palace in the wake of Gobind, who would be admitted without question and –

Why, of course – that was how they could do it! Gobind must introduce him as a fellow-physician, a well-known practitioner of Ayurvedic medicine whose opinion could be valuable in this crisis. Sarji could pass as his assistant while Manilal, being the Hakim's servant carrying drugs, was unlikely to be questioned, and having gained admission to the palace the worst would be over, as from there they could probably bluff their way to the door of the Zenana without recourse to violence, and once inside, the rest should be comparatively simple. With the Rana dead or dying, screams and lamentation from the Women's Quarters would cause no remark, and there would be an ample supply of sheets and saris that could be used to gag and tie up the more troublesome women and knot into ropes by which the Ranis and their rescuers could descend to the dry ditch below the outer wall, from where they could escape while the city slept. It was a hare-brained scheme, but it might work: and anything, however desperate, was better than leaving Juli to her fate. But if it failed…

‘I should have made straight for Ajmer,’ thought Ash. ‘I could have made them listen to me. I ought to have realized that this could happen… that telegrams might go astray or be read and pigeon-holed by some underling who didn't realize… I should never have… Juli, oh God,
Juli,
My dear love… It can't happen… there must be some way, something I can do. I cannot stand aside and let her die…’