‘I chose her freely.’
‘In free choice the woman has to stand on the same footing. And then if she reciprocates the love, the relationship may grow. In fact, when this happens the bonds are more real, because the ideal of such a relationship becomes the attainment of the deepest and most loyal friendship. And any break-up, or separation, becomes the greatest calamity. And men and women may then risk the highest stakes to preserve the relationship.’
‘You call Gangi a kept woman, because she was not married to me?’
At that juncture, the nurse came in to clear the tea-things, and behind her came Captain Partap Singh.
‘Then do you think nothing can be done?’ Victor asked me despairingly, unmindful of the lack of privacy.
‘Everything can be done!’ asserted Partap Singh vehemently, his handsome face shining with positive faith and his tall, athletic frame clad in a smart silk suit making him seem full of purposeful intent. And he continued tritely, ‘Napoleon said, “the word ‘impossible’ can only be found in the dictionary of fools”.’
I did not open my mouth until the nurse had borne the tea-tray away. And then, as I was going to answer Victor’s question, Captain Partap Singh said:
‘I have prepared a substitute.’
And, looking in the direction of the departing nurse, he cocked his left eye, significantly.
‘At the moment Gangi may be too self-willed,’ I said to change the conversation, ‘to want to return. And your very desire to have her back will make her more stubborn. Besides, she must be in the first flush of her new romance. . . .’
‘I will murder the bania!’ Partap Singh shouted. ‘The thief! The snorting ass!’
‘You must remember,’ said Victor defeatedly, ‘that he is . . . well, he is part of the new Government. . . . By the way, Partap Singh, did you give my message to the Administrator? Is he coming to see me?’
‘That is what I came to tell, Highness,’ Partap Singh said. ‘Strange things are happening in the state. The Administrator has sacked Pandit Gobind Das and his ministers. And he has taken full charge of Sham Pur. And the Indian Army has marched in to help the State Forces to throw the Communists back. The Administrator himself wanted to see you. But he is busy and said he will be here tomorrow morning.’
Victor shuddered visibly in a violent anger. His face twisted with the will to power, born out of his disgust at his failures. And, as though in an effort to scatter the dogs who bayed at him, he barked back: ‘Get out, all of you! Get out! Leave me alone!’
And then he collapsed into a sobbing fit, his fragile frame shaking with an almost deliberate effort to draw out the pain which racked him.
In such a situation, I had by now learnt, from experience, to leave him alone.
About half past one that night, when I was fast asleep, I was awakened by a gentle pressure on my shoulder, and I found the nurse, Dorothy Thomas, standing by my side.
‘Who’s that?’ I said, startled.
‘It is me,’ she said. And from the break in her voice, she seemed to me to be weeping.
I sat up and switched on the light by my bedside. I could see tears streaming down her eyes. And in a flash I guessed what had happened. The casual words of Captain Partap Singh about finding a substitute had gone deep into Victor’s subconscious, and the way the ADC had pointed to Dorothy with his eyes had acted as a suggestion.
‘What’s happened?’ I said almost automatically. ‘Sit down.’
‘Doctor, I was asleep in the veranda after putting him to bed. I had been tired out by the day duty. Then I suddenly felt someone sitting on the arm of my chair, and stroking my cheeks. I thought I was dreaming. But the weight of his face was on me. He was kissing me! I knew it was His Highness. And I shook with fear of him. I thought I would shriek against my will. But I was afraid of a scene. “Who?” I said. “Go away.” And I didn’t open my eyes, though I knew that it was the Maharaja’s hand, because I felt that if I opened my eyes and recognized him he might be embarrassed. He was breathing hard and leaning upon me. And he was becoming more and more familiar as I lay, my heart beating. I tried to get away. But he had his arms round me and he was pressing me. “Don’t, please don’t!” I protested, and said: “Leave me alone to sleep.” And I watched him out of the corners of my eyes. I was terrified, like a rabbit. His face was burning. And his breathing became heavier and heavier. He bore down on me with his whole body. Then tried to lift me. I was so frightened that someone might come. I almost went mad with fear. I knew he could do anything to me he liked, and I wouldn’t be able to shout for fear of a scandal. He seemed to be blind—and tried to undress me. And then . . . well, I took courage in both hands and pushed him away. . . . He didn’t come back to the attack. I must say this for him. Instead, he went on stroking my hair and saying, “Sleep Dorothy, sleep, my child, sleep.” Then he went away. And I was so relieved and even felt guilty at having had to thrust him away like that. You know, I understand his state of mind. I quite like him and feel sorry for him, as I hear his wife has left him. But, Doctor, what could I do? I had to ask him to go. I am a nurse and our profession has been given such a bad name! Besides, in my religion—I am a Catholic—it is a sin! . . . Don’t you see, Doctor? And now what shall I do? I thought he would never go. And I have had such a fright!’
‘Acha, don’t cry. And I will get you a bed made at the further end of the veranda.’
‘I am so sorry to trouble you at this time of the night. I had to come to you as there is no one who would understand. I am glad I didn’t shriek. Otherwise the whole household would have awakened.’
‘Victor is in a bad state of mind. It was good of you to be so nice about it. I think he developed a fantasy about you and therefore came to you. Under other circumstances he would have attempted rape. I am glad he was not so violent! He is going through a very bad time.’
‘I don’t think the bed can be removed without him knowing. I will go back there.’
‘Acha, help me to remove my small divan to the veranda outside my door and I shall sleep there and be within call,’ I suggested.
Dorothy was a well-built, efficient nurse, and not only helped me to take the divan out but insisted on making my bed on it. Her tears had dried and she had become impassive, though the fear was still in her.
‘Thank you ever so, Doctor,’ she said matter-of-factly, and walked gingerly away, overshadowed by the horror and yet seemingly blithe in her assurance of safety now that I would be sleeping in the veranda within reach of her.
I lay down on the small divan outside. My head throbbed with the tension that Dorothy’s confession had set up in me. I was relieved that she had not shouted or shrieked, and that Victor had been saved from a scandal. And then I felt that at all costs I should try and see that there was no recurrence of this fantasy life yet for a while. Because, already ruined, desolate and unhappy, he might do something which would further prejudice his position in the state. Though it seemed to me that if Captain Partap Singh’s report was true, the situation had become impossible in any case. And I didn’t know what to do. The only thing was perhaps to escape, to go away from Sham Pur. But if it had only been the public crisis on the issue of accession, it would have been easy enough for Victor to quit for a little or for a long while. Unfortunately, Ganga Dasi’s defection at the same time made it very uncertain that he would leave Sham Pur, knowing she was near at hand to rescue. An unknown battle raged in my mind. And there was no solution between the contending thoughts: that Victor’s situation had become untenable and that he would have to ‘change his bedding’, as the Lamas are said to do on reincarnation, since they are not supposed to die. Sleep was difficult for me for a long time, for the weight of the unknown destiny lay on my head, but, about an hour before the dawn, I succumbed to sheer exhaustion and slept a light sleep, interrupted by dreams.
Srijut Popatlal J. Shah duly arrived at the palace the next morning at nine. And he was ushered into His Highness’s presence without delay.
Victor had been tense with anxiety before he came. For though he vaguely guessed the implications of the Administrator taking over control of the state, he did not exactly know what was envisaged. Besides this, there was the guilt about the tender solicitude he had shown to Dorothy, because he asked me if I had noticed anything strange about the nurse that morning. The colours changed on his face from the unhealthy flush of the fever of 99.6 degrees to an insipid pallor. And he lay exhausted, as though he was suspended between life and death.
A tormented look came into Victor’s eyes as the Administrator entered, heavy like Yama, the God of Death, and sat down in a high chair, a little way away from the bed.
Srijut Shah joined hands in hypocritical obeisance while he kept a demure silence.
Victor seemed to be sinking into the bottomless pit of fear and doubt, and ‘Srijut’ Shah’s silence seemed to hasten the process. So he fought back with the pride of the death-defying Rajput that he was by birth. He glanced sharp and quick at the Administrator and said:
‘I suppose you have come to announce my doom. . . . May I tell you that I am not responsible for the breakdown of the administration in the state since the accession. The responsibility is yours.’
‘Your Highness cannot evade responsibility,’ said Srijut Shah. ‘The present lawlessness is the result of the inefficiency of the past. Tyranny! Forced labour! Ruinous hunts! Illegal taxes!—these were there before the accession. And there was that great ally of the Communists, acute hunger. . . . No, your Highness cannot evade responsibility!’
‘But you and the Praja Mandal—what have you done since you came in?’ shouted Victor, sitting up. ‘The exploitation is being intensified! Your Gujerati and Marwari banias are coming in to spread their tentacles around the life of Sham Pur!’
‘At the moment, only the army is coming in,’ said Srijut Shah. ‘My duty is to plug the gaps outside the capital. And this morning at 4 a.m. the Indian Union Army has joined the Sham Pur State Forces and police to stop the Communist guerillas from storming the capital. I am in earnest, your Highness. I have to stop the rot.’
‘Your Praja Mandal is dishonest!’ said Victor. ‘Your administration is . . . well, I know there are all kinds of squabbles among job-seekers going on!’
‘That is why I have taken over the whole administration,’ said Srijut Shah. ‘I have dismissed the ministry of Pandit Gobind Das.’
Victor looked at the Administrator with a soul full of frustration.
‘When I told Sardar Patel that these Praja Mandal fellows were no good, he wouldn’t believe me! Now he sends in the Union Army! And I, who was born to rule, am not told anything about it or trusted. . . . The banias are in power!’
Srijut Shah looked at Victor with a cold and deliberate hostility which masked his humiliation at the insulting words that the Maharaja was using. Then he said:
‘Your Highness, I have to tell you that, while we are providing for your rights and privileges, I have been asked by the States Department to restrain you from any interference in the administration.’
There was a dread flame of power in his restraint. And he sat there with his padded, dark, handsome face, exerting his will to cow down this rebellious, dissolute prince and reduce him to his proper place as an instrument in the hands of India’s ‘Wishmarck’.
Victor’s face became darker. His humiliation was now complete, and he seemed desolate. He must have felt that everything was gone, everything, the last vestiges of everything, and that only by reconciling himself to the new rulers, by becoming an instrument of their will, could he flourish now. For he knew that the titles of Raj Pramukh or Upa Raj Pramukh were only reserved for the more docile and amenable of the princes.
And then I noticed an aspect of Victor’s weakness which had not become obvious to me before. I could sense the way he was fighting the hard, cruel streak of power in Popatlal Shah. I could see he was lacerated by the impact of the new dictum. And I could guess his torment. But equally I became aware of the complete collapse of his spirit and the emergence of the will to compromise.
‘Give the Diwan Sahib some coffee,’ he said.
‘No, your Highness. I must go,’ said the Administrator firmly. ‘I have things to do.’
‘You might have spared me my wife!’ he said sullenly. ‘You have shattered and ruined my life.’
Srijut Shah paused and looked away a little sheepishly and then said in a mild voice:
‘Your Highness is mistaken. We have not taken your wife away!’
For a long moment there was an unconscious battle raging between them, a fierce battle of wills. And their faces were consumed by a strange glow.
‘Your protégé Bool Chand has seduced her—hasn’t he?’
The Administrator had no answer to this somewhat crude but real charge. So he abandoned the defensive position and, in order obviously to apologize to Victor without saying the words, he said:
‘Your Highness, as a genuine well-wisher of yours, I would suggest that—you take a holiday in Europe and get well. A change of air will do you good.’
Victor was angrier still at this evasion. A cruel self-consciousness came over him, the shame of having been reduced to pulp. For he understood immediately that the Administrator was really ordering him out of the state and giving him no satisfaction about Gangi. He sighed as though he was in torment and lay flat, looking at the ceiling. And then with a mad rage he turned and lashed out:
‘I was assured again and again that I would be well treated, that my home and property would not be touched. Now it seems that all treaties and instruments are mere scraps of paper. And nothing seems sacred, not even one’s wife!’
‘You should have kept her in control, then!’ Srijut Shah retorted angrily.
They both relapsed into silence again.
I sank deeper and deeper into despair about this final quarrel. I knew that it would end in the rout of the Maharaja. But their protracted bickerings were odious and vulgar. And the vibrations that their fighting wills created in the atmosphere were exhausting me. In the horrible emptiness of my heart I felt dried of all content.
‘I feel, Mr Shah, that His Highness will not get better here,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he could take your advice to go to Europe for a while. Will you make the necessary arrangements?’
‘Yes, Doctor Shankar. By all means. You know that we have the greatest respect for His Highness’s person. He must trust us. But you must appreciate that Sham Pur is a seething cauldron of discontent. A little strength in the Communist drive and the whole structure would have come toppling down like a house of cards. Now we have to defeat the Reds and restore order. Besides, the Government of India is pledged to democracy. We must stem the tides of the guerilla struggles and save the state at all costs. Otherwise, there will be nothing left of Sham Pur either for us or for the Maharaja Sahib. Sardar Patel has insisted that he is no enemy of the princely order. . . .’
Victor lay apparently oblivious of us. There was sweat on his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot. By the tremor on his lips I knew that he was holding back his tears.
I wanted to put my hand on his forehead and feel his temperature. But I did not move for fear that he would break down. I waited.
The tension continued.
Then Victor burst out loudly like a madman:
‘I will destroy you all! I will! I will! I will destroy her also! And that dirty swine Bool Chand! . . . You can do what you like for the while! But my people love me! I know they love me! And they will not forget me! You are evil and filthy, the lot of you!—with your profiteering and bribery and corruption!’
‘Please, Victor, please!’ I said, touching his shoulder gently.
He thrust my hand away and, with one sharp catch of a sob, began to weep, his whole frame rocking. The sobs convulsed his body and he covered his face with his hands. Unable to withhold his tears, he turned over and hid his face in the pillow, still sobbing uncontrollably.
I stood by him unable to comfort him.
I could not bear the desolateness of his hysteria. And the bitterness of the jerky sobs went into my soul. I winced before I could summon the courage to ask Srijut Shah to go. At last my mouth seemed to open.
‘Please leave him alone,’ I said. ‘His fever will be worse.’
Srijut Shah got up quietly enough and tiptoed out.
Part 3
SLEEPING AND WAKING—OR RATHER THROUGH THE VIGIL OF NIGHTS AND days, because he could not sleep for more than an hour or two every night—Victor was obsessed by thoughts of Ganga Dasi, even after we had put seven thousand miles between him and her.
Of course, I had expected this, because it was with the greatest difficulty that he saw the facts of the situation and realized that he was not wanted in Sham Pur any more by the Administrator, and that Gangi would not return to him. I had to spend hours in persuading him to accept the logic of the events of the last few months. Even so, it was finally a written confirmation by Srijut Shah of his talk with Victor, clearly asking him to take a holiday abroad, which convinced him that the Administrator’s polite and firm hint was an order. And then he allowed us to pack up. And up to the end he went on having private conferences with Captain Partap Singh with a view, he said, to tracing the whereabouts of Gangi and fetching her, so that he could take her to Europe, if necessary by force. But not all the secret agents, whom the ADC employed, succeeded in finding out her hiding-place, and, ultimately, we left for Bombay to catch the Air India International plane, ‘Malabar Princess’.
Classic Mulk Raj Anand Page 79