by M. M. Kaye
The ball was back in his own court, and he realized that he would have to negotiate a settlement without any help from the Political Department – or not for the time being, at all events. If he did so successfully, well and good. If not, then he and he alone would be blamed for bungling it. In short, Captain Pelham-Martyn would be convicted of ‘failing to exercise tact, courtesy and forbearance’, while the authorities, provided with this useful whipping-boy, would still be able to remain on excellent terms with both Karidkote and Bhithor. It was not a cheerful prospect.
‘Heads, they win; tails, I lose,’ concluded Ash bitterly.
He spent another sleepless night (there had been too many of them of late) wondering how he could get a message to Juli, and why she had not sent one to him when she could not fail to know how anxious he must be on her behalf. Was it a good sign that she had not done so, or a bad one? If only he knew, it would make it easier for him to hold to his present course. But while he did not, there would always be the fear that if he continued to conduct negotiations with the patience and caution recommended by the Political Officer the delay might end by destroying Juli.
It was the time-factor that frightened him. By rights the wedding should have taken place within a few days of the brides' arrival in Bhithor, and it had obviously never occurred to Juli – any more than it had to him – that it might not. But already over three weeks had been wasted in fruitless talks, and by now it was almost two months since the night of the sandstorm. If her hopes had been fulfilled and she was pregnant, there would soon be very little chance of the child being accepted as a prematurely born offspring of the Rana's. And should there be any doubt at all on that score, both Juli and the child would die: that much was certain. It would be so easy. No one in authority would ask any questions, for death in childbed was all too common and the news that a junior Rani of Bhithor had died giving birth to a prematurely born infant would occasion no surprise. If only Juli would send him word. She must know by now – one way or another…
Ash did not close his eyes that night. He had watched the stars move slowly in their spheres and seen them pale in the yellow flush of another dawn, and when the sun was up he set out once more with Mulraj and the others for the city (it was the fourth time that week) to attend a meeting with the Diwan that proved no more fruitful than the preceding ones.
For the fourth successive time they were kept waiting in an ante-room for over an hour, and when they were eventually admitted, it was to no purpose. The situation remained at stalemate, because the Rana was confident that he held the upper hand and had no intention of retreating from what he plainly regarded as an impregnable position. On the contrary, there were signs that he might demand an even larger sum for marrying the ‘foreigner's daughter’, on the grounds that he would have to pay very highly to be ‘purified’ by the priests for taking such a woman to wife. The amount thus expended would, hinted the Diwan, be considerable, and in the circumstances the prospective bridegroom's demands could not be regarded as unreasonable.
Ash, replying on behalf of Karidkote, pointed out that all this had been discussed in full over a year ago. Nothing had been concealed, and the settlement that had been reached had been declared satisfactory by both sides. Were they then to conclude that the Rana's emissaries had not, after all, been empowered to speak for him? If so, why had they been sent? And if it was being claimed that they had exceeded their instructions, surely it would have been a simple matter for the Rana, on their return, to arrange for a tar (telegram) to be dispatched to Karidkote, breaking off the negotiations until someone more competent to carry out his wishes could be sent to re-open the discussions? – or at the very least, to halt the bridal train before they had travelled too far from the borders of their own state, instead of allowing them to complete the journey. Such conduct, implied Ash, was not compatible with either the dignity or the honour of a prince, and as the expense of the journey had been heavy, there could be no question of waiving the other half of the Princess Shushila's dowry, or of adding anything to the sum already paid on behalf of her half-sister, Anjuli-Bai.
The Diwan replied that he would relay these views to his master, and was sure that the matter would eventually be settled to everyone's satisfaction. And on that all-too-familiar note, the meeting ended.
‘I wonder how long they will keep it up?’ remarked Ash as they rode back to the camp.
Mulraj shrugged and said morosely: ‘Until we give in.’
‘Then it looks as though we are going to be here for a long time, because I-do not intend to be blackmailed, and the sooner they realize that the better.’
‘But what else can we do?’ wailed Kaka-ji. ‘Perhaps if we were to offer him-’
‘Not one anna,’ cut in Ash, brusquely interrupting the old man. ‘Not one pi. The Rana is going to pay all that he owes. And more – much more.’
Mulraj grinned and said: ‘Shabash, Sahib. Bravely spoken! But may one ask how you mean to bring this about? It is not he, but we who are in a trap. And we cannot rush those forts, even by night.’
‘I don't intend to rush anything – least of all the forts. Or my fences,’ added Ash bitterly. ‘No one is going to be able to say that I have acted precipitately or been too impatient. I mean to give the Rana all the time he wants, and see whose patience wears out first: his or mine. Or Bhithor's.’
‘Bhithor's?’
‘Certainly. Are we not all guests of the state? And as such, why should we pay for our keep? That is surely the privilege of a host. Presently the shopkeepers and the farmers and the cowherds, and all those who supply us with food and fuel and fodder, will demand payment. And they will not get it from us, that I promise you. The Rana and his councillors will soon find that it is costing them far more to keep us here than they bargained for, and after a time they may decide that it would be cheaper to make concessions.’
Mulraj laughed for the first time in several weeks, and the faces of the others cleared.
‘Arré, that is true,’ said Mulraj. ‘I had not thought of it. Why, if we stay here long enough, those swindling sons of faithless mothers may even pay us to go away.’
‘Or take what they want by force?’ suggested Kaka-ji with a pessimistic nod in the direction of the nearest fort. ‘Ah yes, Sahib' – here he shook his head at Ash - ‘I know that you think otherwise, and I wish that I was of your mind. But I cannot feel sure that the Rana will abstain from using violence once he finds that he cannot get what he desires by more peaceful means.’
‘By blackmail and bluff, you mean,’ retorted Ash. ‘But bluff, my father, is a game that two can play at, which is something that these faithless apes have failed to take into account. Well, we will play it with them.’
He refused to be drawn further, for if the truth were known he had nothing in mind except a firm determination to resist the Rana's demands and see that he paid up to the last farthing. For the moment it behoved him to move cautiously, if only to show Major Spiller, the Political Officer, that he had done everything possible in the way of peaceful persuasion, and shown enough patience to arouse envy in Job. Once that point had been made, if the Rana continued to be intransigent then he, Ash, could hardly be blamed if he took more forceful measures to bring the bridegroom's party to their senses. But whatever happened, he must not lose his temper.
This last resolve came close to being broken two days later, when at yet another meeting in the Rung Mahal – convened to discuss ‘new proposals' -the Diwan (who had again kept them waiting) announced in a confidential manner and with a great show of regret that as a result of further discussions with the priests on the religious aspect of the Rana's proposed marriage to his bride's half-sister, it had, unhappily, become necessary to ask for still more money in return for this favour. He mentioned a sum that made the previous extortionate demand seem almost paltry by contrast…
‘These priests they are rapacious,’ confessed the Diwan in a resigned, man-of-the-world voice. ‘We have reasoned with them, but alas,
to no avail. They have now demanded that my master build a new temple as the price of their consent to this marriage. It is iniquitous – but how can he refuse? He is a most religious man, and he cannot go against his priests. Yet to build a temple will cost a great deal of money; so you will see that he has no choice but to ask that his Highness of Karidkote should defray an expense that will have been incurred on behalf of His Highness's half-sister. It is all most unfortunate' – the Diwan wagged a regretful head and spread out his hands in a gesture of rueful deprecation – ‘but what can I do?’
Ash could think of several things. But the question was plainly rhetorical, and in any case he could not have answered it for the simple reason that he could not trust himself to speak, because it was Juli who was being subjected to insult by these contemptible, smirking blackmailers. He was aware, through a red haze of rage, that Kaka-ji was replying to the Diwan in a gentle, dignified voice; and presently that they were all out in the sunlight once more, mounting their horses and riding away again. But he still had no idea what answer the Diwan had received.
‘Well, and what now, Sahib?’ inquired Mulraj.
Ash did not reply, and Kaka-ji took up the question, repeating it and demanding to know what they could do in the face of this latest outrage.
Ash came out of his dream and said abruptly: ‘I must speak to her.’
The old man stared at him in bewilderment. ‘To Shu-shu? But I do not think-’
‘To Anjuli-Bai. You must arrange it for me, Rao-Sahib. I must see her. And alone.’
‘But that is impossible!’ protested Kaka–ji, shocked. ‘On the march, yes. There it did not matter too much. But not here in Bhithor. It would be most imprudent and I could not permit it.’
‘You will have to,’ insisted Ash tersely. ‘For unless I do, I will take no further part in these negotiations, but send word to Spiller-Sahib that I can do no more and that he and the Rana must decide the matter between them.’
‘But you cannot do that!’ gasped Kaka-ji. ‘What if he should give way to the Rana for the sake of peace? – which he might well do, as Mulraj has said. We should be undone, for how could we pay such a sum? Even if we had it – which we have not – it would beggar us, and without money we could not make the return journey. Nandu, I know, would never send us any more, for he would be mad with anger and -’
Agitation was making Kaka-ji speak with more frankness than he would normally have dreamt of using in public, and realizing it, he broke off to throw an anguished glance over his shoulder at the four other members of the party, who had fallen behind them, and was relieved to see that they were not only well out of earshot but engaged in an animated conversation of their own.
‘Besides,’ said Kaka-ji, lowering his voice and returning to his original argument, ‘what good can you do by speaking to Anjuli-Bai? There is no way in which she can help us, and to tell her what the Rana has said would only be an unkindness, there being no way out for her or for Shu-shu.’
‘All the same, I must see her,’ said Ash implacably. ‘She has a right to know how things stand. A right to be warned beforehand, in case…’
He hesitated, and Mulraj finished the sentence for him: ‘In case the Rana refuses to wed her. Yes, I think you are right, Sahib.’
‘No,’ said Kaka-ji unhappily. ‘It is not wise or proper that you should do so; and I cannot think that it is necessary. But as I see that you are both against me in this, I will tell her myself. Will that content you?’
Ash shook his head. ‘No, Rao-Sahib, it will not. I must speak to her myself. It is not that I do not trust you, but there are things that I wish to say that you could not. But only you can arrange it.’
‘Nay, Sahib. It is impossible. I cannot… It would become known. It would be too difficult…’
‘Nevertheless you will do it for my sake. Because I ask it of you as a great favour. And because, or so I have heard, you and her grandfather, Sergei, were friends, and you knew her mother, who -’
Kaka-ji checked him with an uplifted hand: ‘Enough, Sahib. You heard aright. I admired her grandfather the Russian very greatly when I was young. A strange man – a magnificent man – we feared him for his rages as much as we loved him for his laughter; and he laughed often. I have heard that even when he lay dying, he laughed and was not afraid…’
Kaka-ji sighed and was silent for a moment or two. And presently he said: ‘Very well, Sahib, I will do what I can. But only on one condition. I myself must be present.’
Nothing that Ash could say would make him give way on that point. The old man was convinced that if it should come to the ears of the Rana and his council that Anjuli-Bai had talked alone with a young man who was unrelated to her, they might use it as an excuse to send her back from Bhithor in disgrace -and in all probability portionless as well. They were quite capable of impounding her dowry as ‘compensation’ for the loss of a bride, and the fact that the young man in question happened to be a Sahib whom the Government had placed in overall charge of the camp and empowered to negotiate the marriage settlements would be neither here nor there. The only factor of importance would be his sex, and a scandal would merely strengthen the Rana's hand and stiffen his attitude on the question of Shushila's bride-price.
‘You have nothing to fear,’ promised Kaka-ji. ‘No word of what passes between you will ever be spoken afterwards by me: I will promise you that. But if by some evil chance news of it were to leak out, my niece must be safeguarded. I must be able to say that I, her uncle – brother to her father who was lately Maharajah of Karidkote – was present throughout. If you cannot agree to that, then I for my part cannot help you.’
Ash looked at him long and thoughtfully, recalling certain rumours he had heard about him, ‘old, forgotten, far-off things’ that might or might not be true. If they were… But there was obviously nothing to be gained by arguing with him now. Kaka-ji had meant what he said and would not go back on it; and as it was going to be impossible to have any speech with Juli without his help, there was nothing for it but to accept his terms. At least he could be trusted to keep his word and hold his tongue.
‘I agree,’ said Ash.
‘Good. Then I will see what can be arranged. But I can make no promises on behalf of my niece. It may be that she may not wish to see you, and if that is so, I can do nothing.’
‘You can try to persuade her,’ said Ash. ‘You can tell her… No. Just say that it is necessary, and that I would not have asked it of her – or of you – had it not been.’
Kaka-ji had arranged it. The meeting was to take place in his tent at one o'clock in the morning, at which time all the camp should be asleep. And as Ash would have to find his way there unseen, it would be as well, suggested Kaka-ji, if he disguised himself as a night-watchman, for it could be arranged that the chowkidar whose duty it was to patrol that part of the camp would be given a drug that night – something that would send him to sleep for an hour or so.
‘Gobind will see to it,’ said Kaka-ji; ‘and also that no servant of mine is within sight or hearing. He is to be trusted, and it is necessary that I trust someone; but as we cannot be too careful, even he will not know who it is who comes to my tent by night. Now listen carefully, Sahib -’
Ash would have preferred a less complicated arrangement, and could see no reason for such elaborate precautions. But Kaka-ji was adamant, and on the score of secrecy, the meeting could not have gone better. No whisper of it had ever leaked out, and both his niece and the Sahib had come to his tent and left again without attracting any attention or arousing the least suspicion. But in all other respects it had been a sorry failure, and afterwards the old man was often to regret that he had gone back on his original refusal to have anything to do with it; and even more that having done so he had insisted on being present, as but for that he could have remained in happy ignorance of things that he would so much rather not have known.
His niece Anjuli had arrived first, shrouded in a dark cotton bourka and slipping into th
e tent as silently as a shadow, to be followed a few moments later by a tall, turbaned figure wearing a dingy shawl wrapped high about his mouth and nose in the time-honoured manner of chowkidars, who distrust the night air. Kaka-ji noted with approval that following his instructions the Sahib was carrying a night-watchman's lathi and the length of chain that is rattled at intervals to warn away evil-doers, and congratulated himself on his attention to detail. Now it only remained for the Sahib to say what he wanted without wasting words, and for Anjuli to refrain from unnecessary comments, and in less than a quarter of an hour the whole thing would be over and the two of them safely back in their own tents without anyone being the wiser.
Buoyed up by a warm feeling of complacency, Kaka-ji made himself comfortable on a pile of cushions and prepared to listen without interruption while the Sahib informed Anjuli of the Rana's demands and their possible consequence to herself.
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.