“We are guests in your uncle’s country. It is not our place to criticise.”
“Vitker Sahib, great changes are coming in Zafarala.” Ghulam Kasim had cast several looks in Ruth’s direction. He added “It is not a safe place for any of us. My uncle’s addiction to drink and drugs is forcing him ever closer to the brink of total insanity. He is already capable of committing any evil at any time. Once he completely loses his reason, there is no knowing what he might do to any of us. I trust, Vitker Sahib, that when your daughter goes riding, she is always accompanied.”
Ruth spoke for the first time; and in character. “I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, Ghulam Kasim-ji. We have lived for three years in a very wild part of America. I have shot evil men in self-defence.”
Ghulam Kasim looked shocked and impressed at the same time. Her bluntness, her unexpected declaration which was so much at odds with her appearance, robbed him momentarily of speech. He managed presently to say “I hope you will never ride without at least a sais to accompany you.”
“He always does: but if there were any trouble it is I who would know how to defend him.”
Ghulam Kasim gave Ramsey a wry look, and in a speech that was too colloquial and rapid for the two newcomers to India, he said “You’ve got a spitfire there, Hugh: a real little tigress; you’d better watch it, brother, she’s a handful. And I can see you’re gone on her; and she on you.”
When Ghulam Kasim left, Whittaker took a deep breath and exhaled it in a manner that was as eloquent as a spoken comment.
“Just the same, I would rather see him ruling this state than that ratty little Nawabzada.”
“I too, Henry. But I made it clear to him, before you and Ruth arrived, that no amount of sentiment between his family and mine will involve me in native politics.”
Chapter Sixteen
Major Owthwaite had arrived home after dark. He was not a man to neglect his duty, even his thoughts were of Ivy’s plump and ardent embrace. He would have gone straight to the palace if he had believed it worthwhile. But the Nawab would most probably be drunk or drugged, or too occupied by some sadistic or lubricious activity to welcome a situation report. He sent a messenger the following morning and was received betimes by a sober, clear-headed and still chastened Nawab.
“I have not been unmindful of military matters in your absence, Major Sahib. That rascal Anwar Ali, aided and abetted by Ghulam Kasim, sought to distract my attention from affairs on the frontier. And to inflict casualties on my troops. I gave orders for the revenue-farmer and the troops to desist from their attempts to obtain his tax for the time being. More: Rumgee Sahib brought with him a hundred of the finest rifles I have ever seen and a hundred shotguns. He presented me with a pair, and the Nawabzada and the Dewan. The remaining ninety-five pairs — two pairs he has kept — I have bought for the Army. I wish to arm our best troops with them.”
“That is good, Your Highness. However, I do not think there is any immediate danger from Karampur. Our Army is too much feared. The Raja has sent more troops, foot, horse and guns, to the frontier; but he will not attack us. He is preparing for war, however.”
“Against us? You are sure?”
“He has brought in mercenaries and is hiring more. There are Sikhs from the Punjab, Mahrattas and Gujars.”
The Nawab gave a disdainful grunt. “Gujars! Does he have to stoop to hiring cattle-thieves to bear arms for him?”
“They fight well for spoils of any kind, Your Highness.”
“The Punjab Sikhs and Mahrattas know how to fight. Not as well as we, but if there are enough of them they will give us trouble.”
“There will be trouble, all right. When he has assembled a big enough force.”
“Then we should not wait. We should take the war to him.”
“I do not advise that, Your Highness.”
“Is my Army, then, not ready? Not as well-trained and strong as I had been led to believe?” Excitement at the prospect of bloodshed and reconquest of old territory made the Nawab forget his resolutions and the Imam’s chiding. He remembered only the incitement of the Brahmin high priest and Sadhu. Then he justified himself virtuously by recalling the Imam’s words: there would be merit in despatching a few hundred infidels to Jehannam.
Makes me itch to boot the bastard up the arse when he sneers, Owthwaite was thinking.
“The Army is ready in all respects, Your Highness. If we wait for the enemy to attack, we will be the injured party; and that is worth a lot. If the British come down on anybody, it will be on Karampur. As a matter of strategy it is the right course also. There is no artillery in all India like ours; save, of course, the British and the Sepoy Army. We will blow Karampur and his mercenaries back across the frontier. And we will have the right to pursue them: which will enable us to move the frontier further north and recover the territory stolen in your grandfather’s time.”
“Then, if the British step in, they will force Karampur to let us keep the land we have recovered. And perhaps force him to disband his mercenaries or reduce the size of his own Army. Perhaps even add the state to their other possessions.” The Nawab’s excitement grew with the prospects.
“That is right.”
“But suppose, for some reason, Karampur does not attack?”
“Then we shall be spared a war and much loss of life. An Army which preserves peace by its very strength and never needs to go to war is the best Army of all.”
This was not an encomium to appeal to the Nawab.
“You told me that Karampur is preparing for war. That he is waiting only until he has all the men he needs.”
“That is so.”
“Then we will wait too. And when the inevitable attack comes, we will repulse it with heavy slaughter and pursue the enemy deep into his ill-gotten territory. And we shall not stop until we have recovered all that belongs to us.”
“I do not think it will be a long wait, Your Highness.”
Nor did the Nawab.
*
Prithvi, the Hindu eunuch, opened the door onto the lane behind the palace and admitted the two holy men, the sleek, chubby chief priest and the emaciated swami.
It was very late, two hours after midnight, to ensure absolute secrecy. The Chamberlain, when he detailed Prithvi for the duty, had been greatly disturbed. His voice shook and his hands trembled.
“If anyone is in the lane, he must not be allowed to leave alive. Understand that plainly, Prithvi. Nobody must see anything. I myself will follow the two holy men. I shall be armed with a knife and a staff. If there are any observers, awake or asleep, I shall deal with them. If I need help, you must give it. Take this knife and I will leave a staff for you by the outer door.”
It was unlikely that there would be even a beggar sleeping in the lane, which was forbidden to all after nightfall: but the precautions impressed Prithvi and almost unnerved him.
When he had let the two secret visitors into the small pavilion behind the harem, he withdrew to his usual place of concealment.
The Nawab, primed with bhang and a little palm toddy, was in a fine mood of elation and self-confidence. He wasted no time as soon as the three conspirators were settled.
“I do not wish to discuss Rumgee. You told me he is an agent of the British Sarkar. You tried to remove him — do not deny it — and failed. Whether you were right or not, I do not care. If he is a British spy, what I want of you is all the more important. If he is not, it does not matter and I can make use of him in many ways.”
The swami was, as usual, as still as a statue, his eyes unfocused.
It was the priest who spoke. “You wish to precipitate war with Karampur so that they are the aggressors and the wrath of the British may fall upon them?”
The Nawab’s intestines quaked and his awe of the Brahmin again overcame his dread of the Imam.
“I have a plan for bringing about a war. I want it to appear that the Raja of Karampur is the aggressor.”
The swami’s eyes moved,
without a turn of the head, and focused on the Nawab.
The priest said “Tell us your plan.”
The Nawab revealed his mind without faltering, as he had been rehearsing all day. “Tell me if the omens are good and when would be an auspicious time.”
It was after three o’clock in the morning when the two Brahmin slipped through the door into the deserted lane.
It was not until many hours later that the Chamberlain found an opportunity to talk to Prithvi in private. The sight of the youth’s nervousness and unwillingness to meet his eye alarmed him. Prithvi was hangdog, morose and frightened.
He kept insisting that he had overheard none of the Nawab’s conversation. “The Nawab would not allow me to stay in the vestibule, ready to open the door onto the lane, as I usually do. He told me to leave the pavilion until he called for me.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“I swear it.”
“A man who is frightened for his life will swear to anything.”
“I was told to go.”
“Where did you go?”
“To the small chamber at the end of the cloister, outside the harem.” It came pat. Prithvi had been rehearsing too.
“I can find out if you are telling the truth.”
Prithvi turned sulky. “There was nobody else there to see me.”
“I can ask the Nawab.”
“If you do that, he will want to know why you are asking. It will make him suspicious. We will both lose our heads. Or eat poisoned food.”
“You are hiding something from me.”
Prithvi sullenly looked at the floor and remained mute. He was bursting to tell someone all he had heard. It was too big a burden to carry alone. Yet he dared not.
*
At the Nawab’s bidding, the Resident and Dr. Bond arrived at the palace together in the Resident’s carriage. The Dewan met them and took them to an audience chamber. The Nawab appeared after only a brief delay. He was affable and looked both the Englishmen unflinching in the eyes when he addressed them. All the portents were that a massive piece of chicanery was afoot. The Resident preferred it when the Nawab was his shifty self: he knew what to expect then.
“I have been very distressed to hear of the sickness of Rumgee Sahib. I am told he came close to death. I ask myself what would have happened if the sickness had befallen someone less robust. Praise Allah, we have had no epidemic disease here for many years. But I would like to do whatever can be done to improve the lot of our people. Zafarala must advance with the times. I propose to allow the construction of a hospital, as you have been requesting. The land will be rent-free and the building will be my gift.” He looked around for approval.
The Resident gave him a sketchy bow. “You are most kind and generous, Your Highness. The British Government would be happy to pay rent and the cost of building.”
“What is to Zafarala’s benefit must be paid for by the state.”
“As you wish.”
Dr. Bond said “I cannot thank you enough.”
“You can thank me in a practical way, Doctor Sahib. You can teach doctors, so that one day we shall be able to run the hospital ourselves without being a burden to the British. Who, after all, owe us nothing.”
The Resident stepped in with suave diplomacy. “We have your friendship. We owe you much for that.”
“I shall be glad to give what training I can.” Dr. Bond looked as though he meant it.
On the way back to the Residency, he turned his pleased look on Carter. “That was very gratifying.”
“The wily fellow is currying favour. I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve.”
“I leave all that to you. I’ll take it at its face value. I realise that it’s one thing to have permission for a hospital and another to persuade patients to come there.”
“I wouldn’t even count on the building being completed, if I were you.”
Dr. Bond looked shocked. “Surely he’d lose face if he went back on his word?”
“Well, I concede it will probably be built: although there may be all sorts of delays and all manner of excuses for them, once the purpose of making this concession has been served.”
“What do you mean?”
“He is being so generous because he doesn’t want to be beholden to the British for anything. I’m sure this is a subterfuge and as soon as he has accomplished whatever stroke of cunning he has in mind, he will take no interest in the hospital.”
“I cannot run a medical school single-handed.”
“Precisely. And as he refuses to let us pay, he can refuse to allow any more British doctors here.”
“Dear, dear. One needs a more agile mind than mine to follow the ramifications of the Indian mentality.”
“Not more agile, my dear fellow, more suspicious.” The Resident’s expression became glum. “The Owthwaites are dining with us tonight. I shall be interested to hear what he has to say about his visit to the Karampur border. I didn’t want him to draw attention to our meeting by coming formally to the Residency during office hours so soon after his return.”
“From the way you speak, it seems that you suspect the political situation with Karampur and the hospital concession are in some way connected.”
“I wish I could contradict you.”
By the time the doctor had worked around this piece of diplomatic evasiveness they had arrived at the Residency.
*
The occasions of entertaining Major and Mrs. Owthwaite were forced upon the Resident and Mrs. Carter; and accepted with distaste by the guests. The Resident’s acicular, desiccated wife went through life as though her nostrils were constantly offended by some rancid odour. She lived for the day when her husband would be called back to Calcutta and promotion. She was an early specimen of that most virulent and snobbish of female species, the expatriate British bari memsahib, grand lady, which reached the zenith of its social influence in India three decades later and flourished for a century.
Her daughters were both bony, ill-favoured and in their early twenties. For them there was some giggling diversion in a visit from the Owthwaites or to the latters’ home. There was a fascinating vulgarity about the Major and his Ivy, an uncertainty about what solecism one or other would commit; and in Ivy, a garish gaiety which was unique in their experience. The first time the Owthwaites had been invited to the Residency, Ivy had distinguished herself in a manner which had kept the two young women in ecstatic laughter for weeks afterwards; but which she had since equalled with other startling breaches of propriety.
It had been at a reception. Ivy had broken wind thunderously. Silence had fallen momentarily on the crowded room, then everyone had resumed conversation, tacitly ignoring the offence. Clear above all the voices had risen Ivy’s, excusing herself with a chortle: “Coo! ‘Ark at me, then! Pardon, I’m sure.”
The Carter spinsters lived in hope that one day she would surpass this performance. They treated her, however, with the condescension of a particularly haughty duchess for a crossing-sweep. They would have been astonished to hear her opinion of them: but would not have understood most of the terms she used.
On this evening, Thorn and Ramsey, both socially acceptable and both, as bachelors, potential candidates for matrimony, were invited.
Ivy was decked out with her usual lurid choice of clashing colours. Her looks were almost more radiant than the ostentatious jewellery she flashed around. Her first words made the Misses Carter giggle, their mother frown and their father cough with disapproval and embarrassment. It brought colour to the faces of all four.
“Cor! Percy ought to go away more often. I feel like a blushing bride all over again.”
“A glass of sherry wine, Mrs Owthwaite?”
“Ta, Mr. Carter.” She was always on her best behaviour at the Residency. No gin.
Mrs. Carter sipped delicately at her sherry, little finger standing proud. “The Nawab has agreed to allow Dr. Bond to have a hospital. Is it not capital news?”
&nbs
p; “’Ave to wait and see, won’t we? Can’t never tell with these ’eathens. Either they’ll fill it to overflowing with all kinds of imaginary bellyaches,” (Mrs. Carter shuddered) “or their priests’ll tell ’em to stay away.”
“It will give the British ladies an opportunity to display some practical Christianity: we must all volunteer to help with the nursing, and teaching the Indians how to look after the sick.”
“Might be a bit more practical like to build a work’ouse, so them poor old biddies don’t ’ave to earn a rupee or two by sack-racin’ for ’Is Nibs. Did you know there was two broken legs and a broken arm a couple o’ days ago?”
“I hardly think it is our place to interfere with the Nawab’s pleasures. And when we have a hospital we shall be able to mend broken bones.”
“Prevention is better than cure Mrs. C.” Ivy turned to Ramsey and Thorn. “What do you two gentlemen think about it?”
Ramsey thought that as both women derived such amusement from the spectacle which Mrs. Owthwaite pretended to deplore, her concern was unconvincing and Mrs. Carter’s overt contempt for all natives was at least not hypocritical. But he liked Ivy and disliked the Resident Memsahib.
“India is not a country in which counsels of perfection are practical, I’m afraid, Mrs. Owthwaite.”
Thorn said “Ramsey is a natural diplomatist. He should have stayed in the Service. He would have been a general.”
The Resident gave Ramsey a speculative look.
After dinner, when the ladies had departed to the drawing-room and the men were drinking port, the Resident came thankfully to the point of the whole evening. Not only was it an irritant to entertain the Owthwaites, but he knew he would also have the boredom, after their departure, of having to listen to the familar disparaging criticism of his wife and daughters.
“You may speak freely in front of Thorn and Ramsey, Owthwaite. What is your opinion of matters on the Karampur frontier?”
“Well, as I told ’Is Nibs, there’s trouble brewing, all right. He’s all for ’aving a go at Karampur right away. The Raja is recruiting mercenaries: Sikhs from outside the state, Mahrattas and Gujars. As soon as he’s got all he wants, he’ll attack. I’m sure of it. The Nawab wants to get ’is blow in first. I told him not to be daft. ‘Wait,’ I said, ‘and you’ll put Karampur in the wrong. If the Governor General decides to send troops to stop the fighting, he’ll be on your side.’ Besides, as I told ’im, we’ve got the best Army of any native state and the best artillery outside the British and the Sepoy Army. Let the Raja of Karampur attack. We’ll blow ’im right back where ’e came from and a few miles beyond.”
A Good Soldier Page 29