The Nawab consulted the Dewan, who pointed out that the proposed temple site was in the way of the traditional route of the Muharram procession. Furthermore, it was at the halfway point where the procession rested while the head mullah conducted prayers. The Imam, the head Muslim priest, and his mullahs were consulted. They declared that a Hindu temple there would be an abomination to Allah, a blasphemy. The chief Brahmin demanded that the processional route must be changed: for it to pass the new Vishnu temple would offend that god.
There was deadlock, there was bloodshed. The chief Brahmin had another vision, in which Vishnu announced that he would concede his temple in the interests of peace between the rival communities: but only if the rich Hindus of Zafarala subscribed two lakhs of rupees to the main temple in Nekshahr. This would be used to erect a gold statue of Vishnu and to build a leprosarium. The money was collected under duress. The lepers’ refuge was built; and collapsed in the next Monsoon, killing everyone under its roof. The statue was cast and later found to be bronze covered with gold leaf, not the agreed solid gold. The bulk of the two lakhs went into the Nawab’s coffers. The Brahmins did not want money. Their objective was to harass the Muslims.
“Do you know what the swami has been saying to the Nawab, Dewan Sahib?”
“The Nawab has not confided in me; but he has had a private talk with the Major Sahib. I infer that the swami has been inciting the Nawab to go to war.”
“Against Karampur?”
“The enmity will never die. The war of seven years ago festers in the minds of the Nawab and the Raja. The Brahmins hate the Sikhs as much as they hate us Muslims. A war between the states would delight them.”
“What would the Brahmins gain; other than the deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Muslims and Sikhs?”
“The British would intervene and would probably remain permanently. The Hindus would prefer British rule to Muslim rule.”
The Resident looked displeased. He spoke curtly. “Why do you suggest that British intervention would lead to permanent occupation?”
The Dewan was not afraid to look him in the eye.
“Yours is a great nation, Rais Sahib. I do not wish to offend you, but I am an old man who has seen much and has little left to fear from indiscretion. And you have known me for seven years. Would you deny that increasing your empire is the most important purpose of every Britisher in my country, civil or military, Government official or merchant?”
Carter frowned. There was a long silence. He changed the subject.
“Why do you not confront the Nawab with this suspicion before the situation becomes out of hand? Give the chief priest and the swami any more time and it will be too late.”
“He would deny it. Unless I caught him in a drunken moment, when he might boast about it. But in his cups he craves company: it is not the time to seek a private audience.”
“You are on good terms with Owthwaite Sahib. Speak to him.”
“The Military Adviser would not bite the hand that feeds him, Rais Sahib.”
“He is a British soldier. Loyalty is second nature to him.” The Dewan smiled in the forest of his beard and moustache at the reproof. His eyes lit with malice and amusement.
“Resident Sahib, you have demonstrated why it would be more productive for you to speak to him. You despise him because he is a low caste man elevated to a level where he is your equal in the eyes of the Nawab; which you resent. Yet you leap to his defence because he is a fellow Englishman.”
Carter was not susceptible to charm; having none himself. But he respected astuteness. He smiled.
“Dewan Sahib, it is small wonder that you defeat me at chess three times out of four. I shall do as you request.”
*
At nine o’clock in the morning Ramsey presented himself to the Resident.
Crusty, constipated looking, unprepossessive fellow, thought the one.
So this is old Colonel Ramsey’s boy, thought the other. Pity he hadn’t the firmness of purpose to stick it out with his regiment; as his father would have. The Colonel would have stayed until he restored its self-respect. I wonder how deep young Ramsey’s selfishness goes. But he’d make a damned sight better Military Adviser than that lout Owthwaite. Might be possible to arrange something. However, it won’t do to let him forget the Barrackpore mutiny. The Sixty-Ninth’s officers bear a heavy responsibility for it.
“You won’t be surprised to hear that I was acquainted with your father many years ago, Ramsey.”
“I often meet people, Indians as well as ours, who knew my grandfather, sir.”
“I am afraid I cannot claim that pleasure. But I am aware of his reputation. It is a pity you have been compelled to choose another career.”
“I was not compelled, sir.”
They held each other’s gaze with cold disfavour.
“Pray, what brings you to Zafarala?”
“Before we talk of that, sir, may I ask if you happen to be acquainted with Pocock, the Calcutta attorney?”
Who the devil did this whippersnapper think he was to dictate the course of their discussion?
“I know him well.” It was said brusquely. “A most distinguished member of the bar, destined soon for a judgeship.”
“He was incautious enough to cast aspersions on the officers of my regiment and the Forty-Seventh, at the dinner table, in the presence of several guests...”
“Not unjustifiably, perhaps.” It was a murmur, but audible.
“I thought it as well that you — and every other European here — should be aware that I called him out.”
Carter looked outraged. Several seconds passed before he could speak.
“You... you... did you...?”
“No, unfortunately I did not kill him. Or even prink him. He refused my challenge.”
“As well for you, young man. The Law...”
“British law does not apply here. I shall have no hesitation in taking the same action if anyone calls the good name of my regiment in question. I feel I should make my attitude plain.”
“I wonder then that you chose to resign your commission, if you feel so strongly about your former regiment. Especially as someone with your evidently belligerent nature would surely find a more natural expression in the Army than as a civilian.”
Ramsey ignored the sarcasm. “About the purpose of my coming here: you may have heard of a Calcutta merchant called Angus Maclean.”
“As a senior member of the Governor General’s staff I was aware of all British subjects in Bengal.”
“I have come to Zafarala as his associate.”
“And what precisely do you mean by that?”
“I hope to develop trade between MacLean’s firm and this state. With its natural resources, there appear to be abundant possibilities: provided that goods can be transported safely.”
“Did you bring any... er... stock with you?”
“Yes. And lost some of it to river pirates. And nearly lost the remainder, and my life as well, to a band of Thugs.”
“Pray enlighten me fully; in particular about your encounter with Thugs. As you know, Government is determined to destroy Thugism. But first I must warn you that the political situation here is extremely delicate and I do not tolerate any activity on the part of any British subject which conflicts with Government policy. You are to exercise the greatest discretion and tact in all that you say or do here: in particular, when you present your credentials to the Nawab. And I am aware that he knew your father, Ramsey! The penalty any British subject pays for ignoring my strictures is permanent exile from British India. Do I make myself clear?”
I wonder what his price is? Ramsey asked himself.
“This is not British India and I may decide never to return there.”
There was a thunderous silence before the Resident cuttingly reminded him: “You cannot leave the country without passing through one of the Presidencies, young man. So guard your tongue. Your arrest in Calcutta, Bombay or Madras could readily be arranged
.”
Ramsey stood up. “I have paid my respects to you, Mr. Resident. I shall conduct myself properly, as an officer and a gentleman. But I beg you to take note that no one threatens me with impunity, sir. No one!”
*
Major Owthwaite in his full regimentals was a sight to see. His scarlet tunic had purple and gold trimmings at collar and cuffs, with gold frogging down its front, at the vent and on the epaulettes. His whites breeches were starched. His thigh boots had an ebony sheen, his huge silver spurs were massively rowelled. His red and purple shako was as tall as a top hat, with a jewelled emblem and plume in front, and a gold-laced peak. He arrived on a black charger accompanied by six lancers and two grooms, all vividly uniformed. Their gaudy saddlecloths bore the state arms: an elephant supported by tigers rampant and surmounted by crossed swords.
Thorn, unwillingly in uniform for the occasion, met him at the door. Owthwaite looked him up and down as though on inspection. Thorn’s resentment was plain to see.
“Mornin’, Captain. Good turnout.”
“Good morning... Major. The Resident will see you at once.”
“Bleedin’ ’ope so. ’E invited me, I didn’t ask to see ’im.”
Their spurs clanked across the marble floor. Thorn felt as though his collar were choking him.
“A word to the wise, Captain. That colleague of yours, Unwin: you might drop ’im a hint. He’s a bit too thick with them harem eunuch pals of his for the Nawab’s peace of mind. Some of the other khojas resent it, too. There’s a lot of tittle-tattle. Doesn’t do us British any good. Upsets the Nawab. What’s seen and heard in the harem shouldn’t be mentioned outside. So ’ave a word with Mr. Bleedin’ Unwin, will you? If he doesn’t look out he may find himself suddenly qualifying for a job as a harem khoja himself.”
Thorn was squirming with discomfort. Much though he detested Unwin, he resented Owthwaite. “I’ll mention it to him.” They had arrived at the Resident’s office.
“Good mornin’, Mr. Carter.”
“Good morning to you... Major Owthwaite.”
“What can I do for you, then?”
“Pray make yourself comfortable. A cigar? A glass of wine?”
“You’re very kind.”
“I trust your good lady is keeping well? I believe my wife is sending round a dinner invitation today.”
“Ah. We shall look forward to that, I’m sure. Nice drop of claret, this.”
The Resident gestured to the bearer who stood in a corner and Owthwaite’s glass was replenished. The bearer understood no English but was dismissed.
“I understand these are busy days at the palace... er... Major.”
“I’m a blunt West Riding man, Carter. Tell me straight what is on your mind.”
“Very well, Owthwaite. There is considerable disquiet about the Nawab’s dealings with the chief Brahmin. We all know he is a danger to peace and good order after that Vishnu affair. There is also a certain Sadhu; a swami, I am told, of the Dasnamah sect: if that means anything to you.”
“I said I was blunt, not ignorant.”
“Then you perceive the danger of these intimate meetings, in a Muslim state.”
“I can see it upsets the Mahommedans. But there’s no reason why ’Is Nibs” Carter looked pained, “shouldn’t give an audience to his Hindu subjects.”
“That is being disingenuous.” Carter had chosen the word deliberately and took malicious pleasure in Owthwaite’s frown of incomprehension. “You are not being candid with me, Owthwaite.”
“If your information is so good, you ought to know that I am not present at any meetings the Nawab may — or may not — have with the chief priest or the swami. What d’you expect me to be able to tell you? What they talk about?”
“What makes you suspect that I am trying to obtain information from you? On the contrary, it is I who hope to be of some help to you.”
“Very kind of you, I’m sure. We can all use a bit of ’elp. What fogs me is, I cannot recall any problems you could ’elp me with at the moment.”
“Well, we know from experience that any rapprochement... er... friendliness between the Nawab and any Hindu priests, mystics and so on has always led to trouble. Therefore I look with suspicion on this present recrudescence... that is, reappearance of the head Brahmin at the palace: especially when accompanied by a Dasnamah. Have you by any chance received any recent information about military activity on the Karampur frontier?”
“So that’s it! You are thinking the Raja might have heard about the Nawab bein’ hand in glove with the Brahmins, which would make the Muslims here restless and give the Raja a chance to cross the border again and try to pinch a few square miles of Zafarala territory.”
“Something of the sort.” I wonder if he is really naive enough to think that is all that I am getting at.
“Then you might be on the right track. And perhaps I should go up to the frontier and see what I can find out for myself.”
“I had a dual purpose in asking you here. One was to discuss the possibility of another conflict between Zafarala and Karampur. The other was to remind you of your own equivocal position as Military Adviser, should hostilities break out and should they go badly for the Nawab’s Army.”
“You are a very perspicacious gentleman, Mr. Carter.”
The Resident raised his eyebrows. He was not aware that the ex-sergeant major knew any four-syllable words; not polite ones, anyway.
“I am sure we understand one another... er... Major. Have another glass of chilled claret before you go.”
Chapter Eleven
The chief priest. Sleek, stout, sly, splay-footed. His skin shiny with good living and the coconut oil with which the devadasi, the temple prostitutes, massaged him. Devadasi, servants of the gods. Their function to dance at ceremonies and in processions; to act as deaconesses; to embrace men, in return for temple alms, in celebration of the source of all life, conferring holiness on venality. They were also at the disposal of the priests. Since all Hindu women must marry, a devadasi would be formally espoused to a god or a tree.
The Sadhu wore a saffron yellow loincloth and carried a staff and a brass begging bowl. About his neck was the Vishnuvites’ necklace of 64 dried tulsi berries, the holy basil. He wore also a necklet of human teeth and another of cobra skin. In contrast with the chief priest his skin was dull, his hair was unkempt and long, he had a beard, his ribs showed through his scanty flesh and his limbs were thin. On his forehead the sign of his sect was drawn in a clay called namam, which gave it its name: a white V bisected by a perpendicular red stripe. It had a sinister rather than pious visual effect. From his left shoulder to his right hip was slung the Brahminical cord of three plaited strands, each of a triple thread: once white, now soiled and stiff with dried sweat.
The Sadhu had come to the temple at nightfall from the cave in a rocky hillside outside the city, where he lived.
From the Nawab’s zenana a cloister led to a pavilion set against the wall surrounding the palace grounds. His scholarly grandfather had built it as a place of contemplation and study. As the grandfather’s taste had inclined less towards women than to his own gender, it had also been a trysting place with his catamites. For duty a woman, for pleasure a boy, for ecstasy a goat. The Nawab-before-last had been content to dispense with the allegedly ecstatic ultimate experience. There was a door in the outer wall, giving access to an unfrequented road. In the time of the Nawab’s grandfather the furtive traffic was in handsome youths. Tonight the Nawab admitted the two Brahmins. As a formality the door was guarded day and night by a young eunuch: a custom established by the old pederast. The lad on duty this night was, the Nawab had ensured, one of the many Hindus among his hijre. He was shut off from the pavilion, in an outer lobby.
The marble floor was strewn with carpets and cushions. The Sadhu made himself a bare space where he could sit cross-legged while the others took their ease.
“What news?” The Nawab kept his eyes on the fat Brahmin. The Sadhu unne
rved him. He could sit all day inanimate and often his eyes would roll up until only the whites were showing, or he would cross them so that the irises made small dark points at the inner corners and his pink-veined eyeballs gave a terrifying effect of blankness to his gaze. In the Sadhu’s bony hand a rosary of 32 knobbly berries slowly slid between the fingers.
“Your Highness has been told of the strange Englishman who has arrived in the city?”
“He who came accompanied by a Pathan and a Punjabi Mussalman and stays at the house of Captain Thorn.”
“That one. Rumgee by name.”
“He has had audience with the Resident. Is he the grandson of the General Rumgee who fought at Plassey and at Buxar?”
“And son of the last Colonel of the regiment which mutinied over the salt at Barrackpore.”
“Does he come perhaps to replace Thorn?”
“He comes as a merchant.”
“What does the Sadhu say about this?”
The chief priest turned to look at the swami and the Nawab queasily let his eyes follow in the same direction. There was silence while the swami’s fingers continued their slow fumbling with his beads and his upper lids masked his downcast eyes. Then he raised them and glared directly into the Nawab’s. His voice had a strange abstracted hollow ring.
“This Englishman comes in the guise of a merchant but I see a sword in his hand and in letters of fire I see the words of the fifty-eighth Moral Stanza: ‘Only death can cut short the affection of a faithful woman for her family, of a tiger for its claws, of a miser for his riches... of a warrior for his weapons.’”
The Nawab’s head felt heavy, his neck so stiff that he could not turn away from that penetrating gaze. He found it difficult to speak and when he was presently able to force words from his mouth his tongue felt leaden and he stammered.
“He is a spy, then, for the British Government?”
A Good Soldier Page 19