by John Wilcox
‘Ah.’ The General looked down at her and then barked a command to his Khampas. Immediately, they bent down and dragged her upright, pulling her hands high above her head. Then they frogmarched her to the wall underneath the window and bound her hands together above her head with a rope. One of the soldiers bent down and linked his fingers together, so that the other could step into them and, reaching up, pushed one end of the rope through one of the bars in the window. Then, together, they hauled on the end so that Alice was stretched high against the wall, her toes barely touching the floor.
She groaned, involuntarily, as her arms felt as though they had been pulled from their sockets and closed her eyes, dreading what was to come.
She felt her breeches being undone and roughly pulled down and then one of the Khampas roughly forced her legs apart and pushed his hand between them, wrenching upwards with his fingers. She screeched in pain and the man stepped back.
The interpreter intervened and spoke quickly, obviously now of his own accord. ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘these men are rough barbarians from the east, even the General. They are not like ordinary Tibetans. Please do not antagonise him, or they hurt you. Tell him now that you are sorry.’
‘Tell him to go to hell,’ hissed Alice between clenched teeth and the little man immediately translated – but obviously not her words, for the General grunted and nodded his head. She was allowed to remain hanging, though.
The General spoke again. ‘He say, why you come to Lhasa with this boy?’
At last, a chance for some sort of dialogue! Alice closed her mind against the pain and the shame of the assault and began talking. ‘I have come without the permission of the British Commander or my husband. I paid the boy to take us here because I want to speak to the high lamas who control the government of Tibet. I want to plead with them not to oppose the British any more.’
The General spoke again and the scorn was obvious in what he said.
‘He say, you lie and that you are British spy, come to spy out city before British approach it.’
‘That is not true. Would a British general send a woman to do that work?’
She could see that the shaft had struck home and she continued quickly. ‘I have witnessed all of the fighting between the British and their troops and the Tibetan army and seen the slaughter of the Tibetans and reported on it back to my newspaper, which is one of the most important in Britain.’
‘I know of The Morning Post and have read it,’ the interpreter said quickly, not without evincing a touch of pride.
‘Then you will know that I criticise the killing by the British. If the British army is opposed again before they reach Lhasa, then there will be even more Tibetans killed. I came to plead with the lamas to allow the army to approach peacefully and to sit down with them in the city to discuss a peace treaty between the two countries, like civilised people.’
She allowed the translation to take place and then continued quickly, before the pain made tears pour down her cheeks. ‘Either way, if I see the lamas or not, if I am killed or violated again, then the British General and my husband will exercise fierce retribution upon the General here and upon the Khampa people. I can promise you that,’ she ended fiercely.
The scholar made the translation at some length and the General stood listening, hands on his hips, his legs stretched wide. Alice observed him between half-closed eyes, praying that the torture would not be resumed.
The big man remained silent for a while. Then made his reply. ‘He say we leave you here like this for a while, for your impudence,’ translated the scholar. ‘Then we go and get the boy and make him tell us truth. We will return.’ The General nodded curtly, turned on his heels and the quartet stamped out of the cell, the little interpreter looking over his shoulder, blinking behind his spectacles and almost, Alice thought, with tears in his eyes. Then the door clanged shut.
Her first thought was one of relief that the rape that she feared was not to follow – at least not immediately. Then, quickly, came the feeling of impotent shame that she had been violated so rudely and left, hanging now, her toes just touching the ground, but with her jodhpurs and knickers pulled down to her ankles. Now came the pain, renewed.
Her calves and her hamstrings felt that they were being stretched to breaking point as they attempted to take the strain of her weight, and her shoulders, armpits and arms seemed to be on fire. She pushed back her head and gritted her teeth. For God’s sake, she had been strung up for less than five minutes. If the pain was this bad after a few minutes, what would it be like for … what? Hours? How long would they leave her like this and how could she bear it? Then she recalled the General’s words: ‘going to get the boy and make him tell us the truth’.
This time the tears poured down her cheeks as she realised that Sunil – her only hope – was about to be arrested and, no doubt, tortured, all because of her foolishness and arrogance. She sobbed at the thought and that she would now almost certainly never see Simon again. Unless … Had he got her second note? Surely, he would come after her? Her thoughts raced. But how to find her in this strange, labyrinth of a city? She moaned out loud in despair and pain.
Alice tried to force her aching legs to summon up a little energy to jump to take the strain off her arms, but they did not, could not, respond. She shouted to the jailer in the hope that she could promise him something, anything, if he would cut her down. But her voice echoed back to her from the walls of the cell.
She had no idea how long she had hung in this way, for blessedly, she had slumped into some sort of loss of consciousness, when she heard a voice, speaking very low, saying, ‘Very sorry, madam. Forgive me if I do this.’ And she felt a hand fumbling for her breeches at her ankles.
Opening her eyes, Alice realised that the little interpreter had returned. Immediately she attempted to kick him, but the power was not there. Then she realised that the cell door had been closed and that the little man seemed to be alone.
‘I trying to, ah, adjust your clothing, madam,’ he was saying and he somehow succeeded in pulling her knickers to cover her nudity, then hoisting her breeches to her waist. ‘There,’ he said, buttoning them, ‘it did not please me that they did that to you.’
‘Thank you,’ Alice whispered through dry lips. Her tongue now felt as though it had swollen to fill her mouth. ‘Do you have any … any water?’
‘Ah yes. I think of that.’ The interpreter adjusted his spectacles and fumbled in a little bag he carried and produced a small earthenware jar, removed the stopper and held it to Alice’s lips.
Greedily, she gulped until the precious water ran down her chin. Carefully, the little man wiped it. ‘They intend to leave you to hang like this without water or food for, I think, two days,’ he whispered. ‘I think this terrible thing to do, so I come back and tell the jailer that I had been sent to … what is the word? Ah yes. Interrogate you. So he let me in. Look I bring little meat and bread too. Can you eat?’
‘Yes.’ Alice licked her lips. ‘But can you cut me down first? This is very … it is very painful.’ She cursed inwardly as she felt the tears slip down her cheeks again.
‘Oh, ah, I am very sorry. But cannot do that. General would kill me if I interfere with his punishment. I am sorry. He probably kill me anyway, if he know I am here now, with food. Here, take a little bread with our butter.’
Alice shook her head in frustration. ‘I am very grateful. But can’t you possibly do something … find something to put under my feet? The pain is very, very strong. Something to take the strain away, you see.’
The interpreter pushed his pince-nez back up his nose and looked around the cell. ‘Ah yes,’ he muttered, ‘but nothing here.’ Then: ‘Ah, yes. I think I see little stool outside. I get it. But be quiet now. Jailer must not hear.’
He was away for what seemed like hours to Alice, but then he returned, carrying a little three-legged stool. ‘It was in corridor,’ he said. ‘I steal it. I hope it is not missed. Here … I lift your legs.’<
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He did so and, at last, Alice was able to stand, flat on her heels. The relief was immediate and sent from heaven, but she staggered on the precarious platform as the strain was taken from her calves and she lost her balance. The little man had to hold her for a moment.
‘Oh, thank you, so much,’ she gasped. ‘That is such a relief. Is there … do you have … any more water?’
‘Yes, of course. Here.’ He lifted the jar and she drank again. ‘I think I could take a little bread and whatever you have now,’ she said.
He fastidiously took out meat from his haversack, then two pieces of bread, and placed the meat within the bread and held it to her lips so that she could eat. Alice munched away as best she could, hungrily now, for she had not eaten since the porridge and milk given to her, what? Probably twenty-four hours ago.
‘I am very grateful to you, sir,’ she said eventually. ‘Pray tell me your name.’
The interpreter gave her a wan smile. ‘Oh, madam. I do not think it relevant to give you my name. I am just glad to be of some small assistance to you. I teach at one of the monasteries here. Unfortunately, the General took me away from this work to interpret for him here. Although,’ his smile widened a little, ‘perhaps that was fortunate for you.’
‘Oh, it certainly was.’ Alice’s voice dropped and became full of concern. ‘Tell me, do you know if they have found Sunil, the Tibetan youth who came with me to Lhasa?’
‘No, I do not. The soldiers go to get him but I do not know if they find him.’
‘Oh, I hope to God they do not. Tell me also, do you know how many jailers or soldiers are posted here in this prison?’
‘Yes. It is used also as a kind of barracks, I think. But it is really small building and has only one jailer, I think, but about ten of the Khampas, who act as General’s bodyguards, live here. General lives in Governor’s house, a little way up street.’
For the first time for hours, Alice felt a little ray of light open up in her mind. Only ten guards …! Perhaps, if Sunil returned with her handgun, she could … Then despair descended again. How stupid of her to think that! The guards would almost certainly find Sunil and … She frowned in agony at the thought of them torturing her splendid, brave companion.
The interpreter looked over his shoulder. ‘I think I must go now because jailer get suspicious.’ He held up the jar. ‘More water?’
‘Yes please.’ She took several sips, carefully this time.
He replaced the stopper. ‘There is a little left. I hide this in straw in case they cut you down and you can reach it.’ He tucked it away. ‘I go now, lady. I hope they cut you down soon.’
Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘Not as much as I do. Thank you, whoever you are. You have been kind.’
He nodded and the little smile appeared from behind his pince-nez. ‘It was good to practise my English. I learn it in Calcutta, you know.’
‘Yes, er, how interesting.’ She tried to smile but couldn’t. If he was going to stay and chat, why the hell couldn’t he cut her down! ‘Goodbye, and thank you again.’
He bowed, carefully put away the paper in which he had brought the bread and meat, tucked it in his bag and walked to the door, obviously left unlocked, and was gone. Alice sucked in her breath. Would her keeper notice the precious stool and take it away again? But he did not bestow a glance on her, shutting the door with a clang and locking it.
Alice sighed and then inhaled quickly as she remembered that the interpreter had said that the Khampas were going to leave her hanging for two days … two days! Thank God the stool was making her position less of a torture. But, two days …! How much time had passed since the General’s visit? She had no idea and she wished she had asked her little benefactor. She screwed her head around to try and look up at the window. Was the light fading? Yes, almost certainly. So perhaps, Sunil would come soon? Ah no! He was almost certainly captured and was probably being tortured at this very moment … Two days! She shook her head in confusion and frustration. Her sense of time had slipped away completely. Perhaps there would be only one more day to go. Perhaps.
She must have slipped again into some sort of sleep for she jerked awake suddenly. What was it? Someone calling? It came again: ‘Memsahib, are you still there? Memsahib?’
‘Oh, thank God. Sunil. Is that you?’
‘Yes, miss. I keep calling but you don’t answer. I thought they take you.’
‘I am sorry. But, dear boy, the Khampa soldiers went to get you. Did they not find you?’
A note of pride came into the youth’s voice now, almost scorn. ‘Ah no. They clumsy people. Aunt hear them coming and she hide me in grain store with my rifle. They do not find me, but …’ His voice tailed away.
‘Yes, Sunil. Go on.’
The boy suddenly sounded much younger, as though the years had suddenly been torn away from him. He went on, but his voice was hardly above a whisper and Alice had to strain to hear him. ‘I wait in grain store for long time. Then I creep out, with rifle, ready to shoot Khampas. But I find only bodies of my uncle, my aunt and my cousins. Khampas kill them all. Take off their heads with their swords.’
Alice realised that Sunil was sobbing now and, aching and hitherto conscious only of her own pain, her heart went out to the boy.
‘Oh, Sunil. I am so sorry. I really am. I … I … it is all my fault. I am very, very sorry.’
‘Don’t worry, miss.’ Sunil’s voice was stronger now. ‘I have my rifle. I give you little gun through window and then knock on door of jail. When man comes, I shoot him, get key, let you out and then we run.’
Alice thought quickly. She had promised that when he came she would have a plan. But the events of the past few hours had confused and jumbled her mind. She had no plan – but she quickly resolved that Sunil should be exposed to no more danger.
‘Ah. I think not, my dear boy. Now, listen carefully.’
‘Yes, memsahib.’ He sounded disappointed.
‘Do you happen to have your knife with you – you know, the one which I gave you and which folds?’
‘Yes. I never go without it.’
‘Good. Now, if you look up to the bars on this window you will see that a rope is wound round one of them. Can you see it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think you could climb up and cut through the rope. It is attached to my wrists, you see, and I am virtually hanging from it. It is very painful.’
‘Oh goodness! I kill them for that.’
‘Thank you, but can you get up to the window?’
‘I look. It dirty street here. Full of rubbish. I have to find something to stand on. Back in moment.’
‘Ah, please don’t be long.’
He was not. Within three minutes she felt the rope tighten as his knife blade was hooked under it as it bent around the bar and he began to saw. Then he had severed it and Alice tottered for a moment on the stool and then fell headlong. The fall winded her but the relief on her arms and shoulders was wonderful. She lay for a moment, savouring it.
‘Memsahib. You all right?’
‘Yes, Sunil. From now on you will be known as Sunil the magnificent.’
‘Yes. Good. You want gun now?’
‘Yes, please. Toss it through and then lower it.’
He did so and then the cord was returned so that he could attach the little box of cartridges to it. This too was then thrown through and then lowered.
‘Now, you load gun and then I go and shoot guard. Yes?’
‘No, Sunil.’ Alice stood with her back to the wall under the window and carefully loaded the gun. She spoke to him as she did so. ‘There are eleven men – one jailer and ten soldiers – who live here in this building. As soon as you fired your rifle they would be upon you. Then we should both be killed.’ She looked up at the window.
‘Can you hear me?’
‘Oh yes. I hear you.’
‘I want you to listen carefully and do exactly as I tell you. Do you still have your pony?’
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p; ‘Yes, I hide it in the gulley where you wait for me when we first arrive. Khampas take your horse.’
‘Splendid. Now I want you to go from here now – don’t waste any time – find the pony and ride back the way we came. If you go on that main road, ride fast and don’t get into trouble at all, you will eventually meet either Fonthill Sahib, coming to look for us, or the vanguard of the army. I think it will be my husband first. Explain to him exactly what has happened and bring him here.’
‘What you do now, then?’
‘Don’t worry about me. I will be all right now that I have my little handgun. But I cannot hold out here for very long, so you must go quickly. Go now but take great care, Sunil. My life depends upon you.’
‘You sure? I can kill all the soldiers with my rifle. Jenkins bach says I am good shot.’
‘Yes, I am sure. Go now. And thank you, Sunil. You have been my saviour. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, miss.’
She heard what she thought was a stifled sob, then all was silent in the cell again. Alice held the cold steel of the handgun to her cheek for a moment, as though for reassurance, and sat on the stool, deep in thought. She had absolutely no idea what she would do next, but two things were important: to get Sunil out of danger and to alert Simon about what had happened to her. With luck, Sunil’s ride could accomplish both things.
She worked the mechanism of the gun to slip a cartridge into the barrel. It was a snub-nosed automatic French Chamelot-Delvigne of eleven millimetre calibre, but Alice handled it with affection. She had first come across the little weapon when she was in Egypt, covering the invasion of that country in the early 80s and had been lucky to have found one now in India. It was very small and useless at long range. But it could kill a large man at short range – and she had a large man very much in mind now as she slipped the little weapon into the pocket of her riding breeches.
She fumbled amongst the straw to find the jar of water, drained it and then lay on the straw and eased her aching shoulders. Now all she had to do was wait …