The Far Pavilions

by M. M. Kaye

‘He cannot be worse than the Rana.’

  ‘You think not? But then as I have said you do not know him. Were we now to return, bringing back his sisters unwed and dowerless, having forfeited all that has already been paid and made ourselves a laughing stock throughout all India, Nandu's vengeance would fall terribly upon all of us. My own life is of little account, but there are others to be thought of: Mulraj and Maldeo Rai, and Suraj Ram and Bagwan Singh also, and many others besides. Even Unpora-Bai –’

  ‘He would not dare kill them,’ interrupted Ash impatiently. ‘The British Resident –’

  ‘Bah!’ Kaka-ji's scornful expletive cut him short. ‘You Sahib-log think your Raj can do many things that it cannot. Have I said that there would be a public slaying? There would be no need. There are other ways – many others. And even if we did not die, we and our families would forfeit all we had, even to the very roofs over our heads, while as for my nieces… who would there be after this who would wish to wed them when their names had become a byword and a jest because of this affair? I tell you, both would find their brother Nandu a crueller gaoler than even the Rana of Bhithor, and end by wishing that we had let them be. If you do not believe that, ask Mulraj – ask Maldeo Rai. Either will bear me out. Sahib, what you suggest is not possible. We must make what terms we can with the Rana. That is all we can do.’

  ‘Even though it means letting Anjuli sacrifice herself for the sake of the daughter of an evil woman – your own term, Rao-Sahib – who supplanted her mother and made her childhood a misery?’ asked Ash bitterly.

  ‘It is her own choice, my son,’ Kaka-ji reminded him, forbearing to take offence. ‘And if you think that I who am only her uncle could turn her from it, when you who love her, and whom it would seem that she loves, have failed to do so, then you cannot know her as I do.’

  Ash's mouth twisted, and presently he said under his breath: ‘I know her: I know her better than… anyone. Better even than myself…’

  ‘Then you will know that I am right.’

  Ash did not answer, but his face spoke for him. And reading that look, Kaka-ji said gently: ‘I am sorry, my son: for both of you. But I have no choice – and she has made hers, and will abide by it despite anything you or I could say. The most we can do for her now is to see that she remains here as a wife and not as one of her sister's waiting-women; which the gods know is little enough when both of us have brought her so much sorrow – you by stealing her heart and thereby making the future sadder and more desolate for her, and I by my negligence and folly in permitting you to ride and talk with her, and being blind in that I did not perceive what might – what had – become of it. I am very greatly to blame.’

  There was so much pain in the old man's voice that at any other time it must have awoken some response in Ash: But he was spent. His anger had drained out of him, and he was suddenly so tired that he could have dropped where he stood. He could not even think clearly, and though he knew that what Kaka-ji had said was true, and that between them they had done Anjuli a great disservice, his mind could only register the fact that he had made his last throw and lost. He could endure no more that night. Perhaps tomorrow… Tomorrow was another day. But a day without Juli – No more Juli for ever and ever. For ever and ever… Amen.

  He turned away without another word, and stumbling out of the tent, made his way back through the silent camp, moving like a sleepwalker.

  29

  Maintaining a policy of patience, Ash allowed a full week to go by without making any move to re-open negotiations with the Rana, or to reply to his latest demand.

  Messages and gifts of fruit and sweetmeats still arrived daily, and were received with polite expressions of thanks. But neither side suggested a further meeting, and it began to look as though the Rana, too, had decided on a waiting game.

  ‘Having had his say, he is giving us time to realize that he means it. And to make up our minds to pay what he asks,’ said Mulraj gloomily. To which Ash retorted that if this was what the Rana thought they were doing, he would soon find out that he was mistaken.

  ‘Maybe,’ shrugged Mulraj. ‘But how if in the meantime we starve? The country folk and the merchants in the city are, as you foretold, demanding payment, and we have referred them to the Diwan and the council – who have sent them back to us. Now they are refusing to supply us with foodstuffs unless we pay beforehand, and if we do not pay we shall all go hungry, because they will withhold supplies; though the gods be thanked they cannot prevent us from cutting fodder for our animals, and we still have enough cattle and goats to provide a measure of milk and butter for all if we are careful.’

  ‘And enough grain to keep us in bread for some little time,’ added Ash with a fleeting grin. ‘I have been hoarding it against just such a situation as this. Nevertheless, we will not touch it until we must, as a day may come when we need it more than we do now. Try these Bhithoris with fair words and promises, Mulraj, and see if they cannot be persuaded to give us credit for a little longer. And when they will do so no more, tell them that their bills and their demands must be given to us in writing. We must have written evidence to lay before this Political-Sahib who fears we may not be patient enough.’

  ‘I will do that,’ grinned Mulraj. ‘When do you mean to ask for another meeting with the Rana or his Diwan?’

  ‘I don't. This time we will wait until they ask us for one. In the meantime let us go out hawking, and while making pretence of searching for game, see if we cannot find some goat-tracks across these hills by which a few men could, if it became necessary, leave the valley unseen. It might come in useful.’

  They had not succeeded in finding one, but a few days later the Rana had invited them to another meeting in the city palace, at which the same demands had been made and the same excuses put forward to justify them. These had once again been declared unacceptable, and the delegation from Karidkote had thereupon withdrawn in good order, leaving the position as before.

  ‘Our turn next,’ said Ash philosophically. And having allowed several days to elapse he requested a further audience with the Rana, and early in the following week presented himself at the Rung Mahal to argue the case all over again, though with no better results. After that there followed a short lull in the negotiations, and then as Bhithor appeared content to leave the initiative to Karidkote and the visitors were finding it increasingly difficult to obtain supplies on credit, Ash changed his tactics and took to calling daily at the palace to confer with the Rana, or if the Rana would not see him, with the Diwan, to press for more reasonable terms. He had even (with one eye on the Political Officer) offered a few small concessions, in order to avoid any future accusations by that gentleman and his department of inflexibility or of having made no attempt at bargaining or compromise. But the result of these efforts had, predictably, merely served to convince the Rana that the opposition was weakening, and that he had only to stand firm to have all his demands met.

  This conviction was shared by his Diwan, who had actually had the temerity to hint that if his royal master's terms were not accepted soon, he might well reconsider them. The inference being that the price would go up, though Ash had affected to misunderstand him and observed gravely that he sincerely hoped so, as it was high time that he returned to Rawalpindi and his military duties. Which was true enough.

  The double wedding had originally been planned for early spring, and even though the journey from Karidkote had taken longer than expected, it could still have taken place before the worst of the hot weather was upon them and the temperature was still tolerable. But six weeks having passed since the great bridal camp had pitched its tents in the valley, the hot weather was by now in full blast and the camping ground had become an inferno of heat and dust and flies, in which men and animals sweltered and suffered together. A scorching wind blew all day from dawn to dusk, stirring up the dust and setting every piece of canvas and every shred of rope flapping, thrumming and clattering so that there was never a moment of silence, and when it died at
night-fall the dark hours were filled with the maddening drone of mosquitoes, the ululations of jackals and the yelping of pariah dogs who prowled between the tents in search of scraps.

  Had it not been for the lake and the fact that the prevailing wind, blowing in from that direction, was several degrees cooler than in many parts of Rajputana, the situation of those in the camp would have been intolerable. As it was, it could be endured though that was the most that anyone could say of it – and at least the wind helped to keep the flies at bay and enabled the more important personages in the camp to obtain a degree of comfort by the use of kus-kus tatties: thick mats of woven roots that were hung in the entrances of the tents, and kept drenched with water so that the wind passing through them blew cool and refreshing. But for those without tents or tatties it was an abominable time. More especially as all in the camp were hill-men and unused to temperatures that dwellers in Rajputana accepted as a matter of course.

  ‘How much longer can we hold out?’ groaned Kaka-ji, who was suffering an attack of acute depression.

  The old man was looking as shrivelled and unhappy as a new-born monkey, for the wind blowing through the kus-kus tatties had given him a chill on the liver, and besides, he had much on his mind – and on his conscience.

  ‘Do not fret yourself, Rao-Sahib,’ said Ash. ‘If all goes well, it should not be long before you and all in your charge will be installed in one of the guest-houses on the lake, where you will be able to live in more coolness and comfort.’

  ‘If,’ repeated Kaka-ji pessimistically. ‘Yet I see no sign of the Rana relenting, and very soon now we may find ourselves short of water. Should the stream dry up – and my servants tell me that it is shrinking daily – what then? Are we to suffer thirst as well as hunger?’

  ‘The stream will not dry up. It is fed by springs in the hills as well as by the lake, and though the lake is low, it is still deep and wide. Nevertheless it is time that we took action, for by now I do not believe that even the Political Agent-Sahib could accuse me of showing a lack of patience. We will speak with the Rana again tomorrow and see if his heart – if he has one – has changed.’

  ‘You will find that it has not,’ grunted Mulraj. ‘Why waste our breath and our time?’

  ‘In Belait,’ said Ash, with a shrug, ‘they have a saying, “If at first you don't succeed, try, try again”.’

  ‘Bah! We have tried a score of times – two score,’ returned Mulraj disgustedly. ‘Hai mai, but I grow weary of this business.’

  Nevertheless, on the morrow they had ridden yet again to the city – they were becoming all too familiar with that road – and after being kept waiting for an even longer time than usual, embarked on the same wearisome round of argument, with the same lack of success. But this time Ash had asked for the Rana's demands to be put in writing, in order, so he said, to cover himself (should he accede to them) in case His Highness the Maharajah of Karidkote, or the British authorities, refused to believe that they had actually been made, and suspected him of inventing the story to cover the fact that he and the other members of his party had misappropriated the additional sum and divided it among themselves.

  ‘Unless we can show proof that such a sum was demanded of us, we dare not even consider paying it,’ explained Ash. ‘That is our difficulty, and you will, I am sure, understand that speaking for my companions, it would be as much as their lives were worth to return to Karidkote with nothing to support their word that they had expended this money on His Highness's behalf. I myself might be in great trouble with my superiors, so I would ask…’

  To the Rana and his Diwan (and his entire council for that matter) such a request seemed perfectly sensible. Had the position been reversed, they themselves would certainly have reasoned along the same lines and taken similar steps to cover themselves, so what more natural than that the Maharajah and the Foreign and Political Department should, in their wrath, suspect the Sahib and his associates of theft and falsehood when they confessed to having parted with a sum greatly in excess of the agreed price? The Rana, scenting victory, had instantly agreed to furnish the Sahib with a written statement of his demands, and had even, at Ash's request, graciously appended his own thumbprint as proof that the document was not a forgery.

  Ash read it over carefully, and having stowed it away in the inner breast pocket of his coat, thanked the Rana for his kindness with a cordiality that was, for once, quite genuine, though the Rana was wrong in supposing that it was a hopeful sign and an indication that the delegation from the camp had at last decided that they had no alternative but to capitulate to his demands.

  ‘Well, and what have we gained by that?’ inquired Mulraj as they rode out side by side through the Elephant Gate – Kaka-ji had not accompanied them that day, being confined to his bed with a chill.

  ‘Proof,’ replied Ash, slapping his breast pocket. ‘This goes tonight with a covering letter to Spiller-Sahib, the Political Officer. And as soon as I am sure that he has received it, we will pull the Rana's nose. Even Spiller-Sahib cannot regard such an outrageous example of blackmail as something to be excused and given in to.’

  The covering letter was written within the, hour, and because Ash was angry and in haste, it was not as tactfully phrased as it might have been. Its curt sentences, while not actually rude, gave an impression of barely concealed irritation with official bumbling that was to cause deep offence and lead to unforeseen repercussions. But Ash did not know that.

  Having finished it, he enclosed it in a sealed envelope, together with the paper setting out the Rana's demands, and once again accompanied the messenger to the frontier and set him on his way. Though this was probably an unnecessary precaution, since it would seem only natural to the Rana that the Sahib should send word to the Political Officer as a preliminary to capitulation, and it was therefore unlikely that on this occasion at least there would have been any attempt to prevent the messenger getting through. All the same, Ash preferred to take no chances, and he had watched the man ride away, and waited until he could see him no longer before turning back.

  He knew very well that the action he had in mind was no more than a bluff, and that if it failed in its effect the result might be a disaster. But it was a gamble he had to take, the only alternative being to abandon Juli to the fate that must befall her if she were to be left behind in Bhithor unwed, and with no rights or privileges beyond those of any other waiting-woman in the Women's Quarters of the Rung Mahal. That was not to be thought of, for appalling as it was to leave her there at all, to leave her in such circumstances would be beyond all bearing, and he would do all in his power to ensure that she stayed as a Rani of Bhithor. That was the most he could do for her now.

  He waited two days to give his messenger time to reach the Political Officer, and on the third day requested yet another audience, in order to warn the Rana not to cherish false hopes and give him one last chance to change his mind. The request having been granted, Ash rode to the Rung Mahal accompanied only by Mulraj and a small escort, and was received in a private room in the palace by the Rana and half-a-dozen of his councillors, and a few favourite courtiers.

  . The interview had been a short one: apart from the usual exchange of courtesies Ash had only spoken twice and the Rana once, and both had confined themselves to a few words. Ash had inquired if the Rana had reconsidered his demands, and was prepared to accept the terms that had originally been agreed upon in Karidkote by his representatives and His Highness the Maharajah, and the Rana had replied, in effect, that he had no intention of doing so, and in fact considered his demands to be not only just but exceedingly reasonable. His tone was insolent, and when his evil-genius prompted him to smile, the watching councillors, taking their cue, grinned appreciatively while one or two of the more sycophantic courtiers sniggered audibly. But it was to be the last time that any of them smiled that morning.

  ‘In that case,’ announced Ash curtly, ‘we have no alternative but to remove our camp and refer the whole matter to the G
overnment of India. Good-day, Rana-Sahib.’

  He bowed briefly, and turning on his heel, left the room.

  Mulraj followed, looking resigned; but they had not gone far when they were overtaken by a breathless councillor who brought a message from the Diwan. The Diwan, said the councillor, urgently desired to speak with them in private, and begged that they would grant him a few moments of their time. There being nothing to be gained by a refusal, they had turned back to find the Rana's Prime Minister waiting for them in a small ante-room near the one that they had left so unceremoniously a few moments before.

  The Diwan was full of apologies for what he professed to regard as ‘an unfortunate misunderstanding’, and he had pressed refreshments on them, talking volubly the while. But it soon became clear that he had nothing new to offer in the way of concessions; or, for that matter, to add to the endless – and unconvincing – excuses that he had made before on the Rana's behalf. He had merely retraced his steps over the same ground that had already been covered to exhaustion during the past weeks, repeating the same arguments in support of his master's claims, until at last Ash's small remaining stock of patience had given out, and he had cut through the spate of words with the brusque announcement that if the Diwan had something fresh to offer they were prepared to listen. If not, they were merely wasting their time as well as his, and would bid him goodbye.

  The Diwan seemed loth to let them go, but they were not prepared to wait any longer, and after further and protracted expressions of regret he had personally accompanied them as far as the gate into the outer courtyard, where he stayed talking to them while a servant was sent to fetch their horses and their escort, who were being entertained by men of the palace guard. It was therefore almost an hour after quitting the Rana's presence that they finally left the Rung Mahal, and as they rode out past the sentries, Mulraj said meditatively: ‘Now what was the purpose of all that? The old villain had nothing to say, and this is the first time that my men have ever been offered hospitality by the guard at the palace. What do you suppose they hoped to gain?’