A Good Soldier

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  The Nawab clapped his hands and the Chamberlain answered the summons.

  “Take these three beautiful creatures to the harem to dance for my women. Shakuntala stays with me.” His speech was slurred, his eyes glazed. He made a gesture to the Chamberlain, who took three purses from his pocket and gave one to each of the girls before leading them away.

  “Now, Shakuntala, I have you all to myself. It has been a long time since we were alone together.”

  She had never forgotten the solitary occasion. She was only twelve years old at the time; a married child awaiting puberty before being claimed by her husband. The Nawab, a libertine in his mid-twenties, had encountered her in the palace grounds as she went on an errand for one of his father’s wives. He had lured her into a shrubbery with some tale of a goblin. She had believed in fairies and had no reason to fear him. Once hidden among the bushes, he had snatched at her garments and begun to undress her. She had fled. Even then he was too obese to run.

  “I no longer believe in jinns, Your Highness.”

  He chuckled. “In gold, perhaps? Much gold. A fortune for which any woman would grant me any favour.”

  “Not this woman, Your Highness. I would not dare to bring ill-fortune on you.”

  His mind was hazy with alcohol. He found it difficult to comprehend her. “Ill-fortune? What nonsense is this?”

  “Your Highness, when I received your command I went to consult a sannyasi guru, one famed for the sureness of his fortune-telling...”

  The Nawab sneered. “A Sadhu.” He saw himself, with what was imminent on the Karampur frontier, as a true son of the Prophet. What heed would he pay to any Hindu soothsayer?

  “I consulted also a faqir...”

  “What business have you with a Muslim mystic?”

  Because I know how slippery you are, you rogue. “I went to him out of respect for Your Highness. I asked both the holy ones if it was a propitious day for the great event of dancing before Your Highness.”

  “And what did they tell you?” His tone was tolerant, amused, humouring.

  “That it was a most fortunate day to dance before Your Highness, but that the portents changed at midnight and my taqdir, my destiny, will enter an ill-starred phase which will bode misfortune for any man who shares it intimately.”

  “A faqir told you this?”

  “A faqir and a Sadhu, Your Highness.”

  He pondered, his eyes on her. She assumed an expression of contrition and concern. He thought deeply. He could not afford to run the risk of a failure of his plans. It was a pleasure only postponed, to do without her tonight.

  “I want you as my woman. You will not live in the harem. I will treat you as I and all my forefathers before me have always treated the pearls among our favourites. You shall have your own abode: one of those which now stand empty in the palace grounds.”

  “Your Highness does me too great a favour. I am not worthy of...”

  “I decide who is worthy and of what. The decision is taken. I want you here.”

  “With respect, I cannot accept...”

  “I am not asking you to accept. It is an order. And,” he leered at her with boozy cunning, “if you should plan to flee from Nekshahr, know now that henceforth you will be under constant observation. If you attempt to leave Nekshahr you will be brought back.”

  “The time is not propitious, Lord. I do not wish to bring you bad luck.”

  “You shall not. I shall send for a faqir of my acquaintance and for a swami who has come to my attention, to tell me when it will be propitious for you to come and live with me. Tomorrow I had intended to go to Girbad, but first I will do this thing because my desire for you is not to be denied. You may go now. And if I am not to have you yet, then shall I console myself with your three companions tonight.”

  She glared her defiance at him; and then, with the realisation of the folly of letting him see the strength of her revulsion and determination, she hung her head.

  “You are rightly contrite.” He put out a fat, flabby, beringed hand and touched her cheek. She shuddered. “And do not think to carry your tale to Rumgee. If you value his life.”

  The Nawab clapped his hands and when the Chamberlain bustled in he said “Send her home. With an escort to make sure she arrives there safely.”

  And does not attempt to bolt, Shakuntala added in her thoughts.

  Chapter Twenty

  The three dancing girls returned from the palace in high spirits. Each had more money than she had ever earned in a year. The Nawab had been too drunk to bed any of them. It was a huge jest among them.

  “He told us you are going to live in one of his bibi khane in the palace grounds, Shakuntala. When do you go?”

  “I forbid you to talk about it: to me or to anyone. Understand? It will be so much the worse for you if you disobey me.”

  They had never known her angry in this fashion before. She had never threatened them. They withdrew to their own quarters, subdued.

  Shakuntala had only two thoughts in her mind: revulsion for what she must undergo at the mercy of the Nawab, and surpassing even this, fear for the safety of Ramsey. She knew that the Nawab had had a favourite, Sitabai. She had heard from the other girls, who had danced for the Nawab Sahiba and the rest of the harem inmates, that Sitabai had died that morning. She knew it was no coincidence and that a similar end could await her when the Nawab tired of her. As for Ramsey: when he learned that the Nawab had forced her into his zenana, he would demand her release. That would mean death or expulsion from Zafarala.

  The Nawab had ordered the Chamberlain to have her house watched. She had to reach Ramsey and tell him. She had not seen him for ten days and did not know when he might visit her again. She dared not send a messenger.

  Women’s wiles could confound even the Nawab. A whole secret world existed on the flat rooftops of every Indian city. It was there and in the upper storeys of the houses that stood in close terraces along both sides of every street and alley, that the women and children had their being in both Hindu and Muslim families. The rooftops were in parda. So enclosed and esoteric were these female communities that in many cities they even had their own dialect.

  It was safest for Shakuntala to go out in the morning and early afternoon, when there were no clients. She dressed in sober garments and veiled herself like a high-caste Hindu, then mounted to her own rooftop. She made her way, as was the custom, almost unremarked, from house to house across the dividing parapets until she arrived at the end of the street. There it was easy to go down inside the house to the ground floor. She whispered to a young woman that she was on her way to an assignation. The young woman, delighted to be involved in a romantic adventure, led her safely down and told her to ask for her by name on her return so that she could, as secretly, regain her own home.

  Veiled and unobtrusive, Shakuntala walked demurely through the bazaars until she was far from her own quarter. Then she took a tonga and had herself driven to within a few yards of her destination, whence she continued on foot to Ramsey’s bungalow. She drew aside her veil when she turned in at his gate.

  He greeted her with his familiar gentle warmth. “I am glad that you have come, Shakuntala. I intended to visit you this evening. I have something to tell you which has been weighing on my mind. I have spent long in thought about it.”

  At once intuition told her what was on his conscience. It was like a knife-thrust. She felt tears come into her eyes and turned away, giving the excuse that a piece of grit had made them water. Then she turned her regard on him again.

  “You do not need to tell me, Hugh. I know what is in your heart and on your mind. It is Ruth Miss-Sahib, as I have for long known that, one day soon, it must be. I understand. I am happy that you have found happiness. Our ways part now.”

  He took both her hands. “No other being has ever brought so much richness or contentment to my life as you have.”

  “The future holds more than I have been able to give you or could ever give you.”


  “In its own special way, what has been between us will never be equalled. Your concern for me moves me deeply. Is that why you are here? I am well, as you see.”

  It turned a skewer in her heart to do it, but she forced boldness and indifference, a note of triumph, in her manner. “I came to tell you the same thing: that we have reached the parting of our ways.”

  “You are leaving Nekshahr already?”

  “No. Last night I was commanded to dance for the Nawab. He wishes to install me in a bibi khana in the palace grounds.”

  “You and that obscene mass of blubber?”

  “It is the summit of my profession,” she told him; wounding herself more deeply than she could hurt him.

  “I do not... I cannot... believe...”

  “I shall be rich for the rest of my life and never have to work again. The Nawab has given me much gold and promised me more... and many jewels...” She had to drop her eyes.

  “No, Shakuntala, I know you too well...”

  She did not stay to listen. She held back her tears until she had regained her own room. She even managed to joke vulgarly with the young woman from the house at the end of the street.

  When she was alone behind locked doors she began to weep as she had not wept since the day she was widowed. She wished that she had lain beside her husband when he was cremated.

  *

  Ramsey could not recall when he had been so badly hurt or so grieved. That jaunty, callous announcement could not have been delivered by the girl he had come to know so intimately over these many months. It had happened, but he was not convinced. The Nawab coveted her and she had gone to him to save him from being thrown out of Zafarala or to the crocodiles.

  He sat miserably with a glass of brandy and brooded.

  A tittup of hooves on the drive brought him to his feet. He knew the sound of Ruth’s horse as well as he knew Sikander’s hoof beats. He put the glass down with relief and went to welcome her. Her sais followed some lengths behind as she trotted up. He had been waiting for her. They were to go for a ride.

  She was flushed beneath her dust veil. The veil did not hide the anger in her eyes.

  “You promised me, Hugh... no, perhaps you didn’t promise, but I made it clear to you...”

  “What are you talking about Ruth?”

  “I have just seen Shakuntala. She had obviously been here... she was only a few yards from your gate.”

  “Yes, she has been here. But...”

  “But nothing! I trusted you, Hugh Ramsey. Without trust there is nothing... no foundation for respect or love... certainly not for marriage.”

  “Ruth! Listen. It was not what you think...”

  “So cheap, Hugh. You make me feel so degraded. And you deceived me... lied.”

  She dug a heel into her mount’s ribs and it darted away. In a few strides it was at the canter. She was gone in a cloud of dust, leaving him desolate.

  He must not lose her as well. But pride did not allow him to call for Sikander — saddled and ready in the shade at one side of the house — to set off in pursuit, to explain, to convince her.

  *

  Before tiffin, Ramsey had another visitor. Dhala Rao, whom Ramsey had never seen ruffled, even when the pirates robbed him, was not calm that forenoon.

  “Sahib, I have just returned from Daryanagar. Before coming here I stopped at the serai, as usual. A strange event has occurred at Daryanagar; and at the serai I learned that the same thing has happened here; and, men say, at Mirgaganj.”

  “What are these strange events that make you so agitated?”

  “Two days ago fifty Hindu prisoners were taken from the jail at Daryanagar, loaded onto carts and driven off on the north road. The same thing was done here. Both convoys of prisoners have been seen heading towards Girbad. There is a story that the same number of convicts are on their way from the prison at Mirgaganj. All Hindus. They shouted from the carts that they were being sent to build fortifications.”

  “Then war with Karampur must be imminent indeed. But who will be the aggressor? It is time that I went to the frontier to see for myself what is happening.”

  “There can be no urgency, Sahib. If there were, Major Owthwaite would be on his way already, if not the Nawab himself.”

  “True. I shall wait two or three days. There is more to be learned here for the time being.”

  “One more thing mystifies me, Sahib. I buy sacks from the jail. I learned that the tailors’ shop is making Karampur uniforms.”

  *

  Ramsey had his third visitors of the day while he was having his nap after tiffin. It was Karim Baksh who roused him.

  “Huzur, it is Ooitker Sahib and Memsahib.”

  Ramsey looked at his watch. This hour was usually devoted to rest by everyone, even in the Cold Weather. He rose and dressed in a hurry. Whatever had brought Henry and Constance here had to be urgent.

  They were pacing the veranda when he went out to them. They were both calm by habit and to see them so agitated alarmed him.

  “Hugh, we thought you were going riding with Ruth. When she didn’t come home for lunch, we knew she wouldn’t be here with you, un-chaperoned, so we came to see if you were still out with her. We thought there may have been an accident.”

  “No, Constance, I didn’t go with her.”

  “Did she not come for you?”

  “Yes, Henry, she came...”

  “Why didn’t you accompany her? Were you not feeling well?” Constance asked.

  “I wish it had been anything so trivial.”

  “What do you mean, Hugh?”

  “Just before Ruth arrived, I had an unexpected visit from Shakuntala “

  “Oh! I see...”

  “She came to tell me that the Nawab has forced her to move into a bibi khana, that is, women’s... concubines... quarters, at the palace...”

  “What concern was that of yours?”

  “We are friends, Constance, and she was upset. Ruth saw her leaving, and flew at me with accusations... understandable, but unjustified... she wouldn’t listen to my explanation... she blazed off in a temper...”

  Henry said “Then she must have had an accident. We have to hurry. Do you know where she might have gone?”

  “We had intended to go to the lake.”

  “Right. We’re on our way.”

  “I’ll come with you. I’ll bring Sher Mahommed Khan. If she has had a fall, he can come back and return for her in my trap.”

  They searched beside the lake for an hour but found no sign of Ruth or her sais. Ramsey made enquiries at a basti, a small village. The headman looked hangdog and shifty and denied having seen them.

  “They are not telling the truth,” Constance said, on the verge of tears from anger and anxiety.

  “Leave it to me,” said Ramsey. “If the rest of you will move off, I shall have a word with the chaudhari.”

  The headman, hearing his title, looked apprehensive. The others rode off.

  Sher Mahommed Khan lingered. “Huzur, give the offal to me. I will make him talk.” He drew his long knife.

  “Willingly, brother. But first let me see if he will speak the truth. Go with the sahib and memsahib. I will call if I need you to attend to our friend here.”

  The headman came close to Ramsey, trembling, looking at him with frightened eyes.

  “Your Honour, we are poor people. Some men came and forced us to let them lock up the miss-sahib and her sais in a hut where we store grain. They were both bound and blindfolded. The men who had done this evil to them gave us money and told us to release them after dark. They said they were Anwar Ali’s bhai band and if the Nawab did not release him, worse would befall all the Europeans here.”

  Ramsey sent Sher Mahommed Khan to fetch the Whittakers back and together they went to the grain store.

  Ruth was not frightened, she was coldly furious. She ignored Ramsey and addressed her parents.

  “There were six of them, all masked with scarves tied over the lower parts o
f their faces: like outlaws out West...”

  “Were they wearing any livery?” Ramsey asked.

  “No,” she answered curtly. “I hit two of them with my whip. One of them must have a weal on his face. They said they were Anwar Ali’s people and this was a warning to the Nawab to let him go free. But I did not believe them.” She gave Ramsey a look of contempt. “The one who did the talking tried to disguise his voice... but he addressed me by name... not as ‘Ooitker’ Miss-Sahib, but as ‘Vitker’... and there’s only one Indian that could be. And he is the one I cut with my whip.”

  “Henry, you and Constance take Ruth home. Sher Mahommed Khan and I will go and deal with Ghulam Kasim.”

  Constance said “Take care, Hugh. Hadn’t you better wait and go see the Nawab... take a posse of his troops with you?”

  “This cannot wait, Constance. And it is between Ghulam Kasim and me. Any harm done to Ruth is my concern, not the Nawab’s.”

  Ruth’s manner towards him did not change. While her horse and the sais’s were being fetched from the byre where they had been hidden, she stood watching Ramsey and Sher Mahommed Khan ride away with no softening of her expression or sign of forgiveness.

  *

  Shakuntala had wept herself out, then dried her tears and calmed her emotions. The knowledge that when the Nawab tired of her he would cast her out contemptuously, degraded and frightened her. She made up her mind that she would never submit to his lust and sadism, his brutality towards all living creatures. Her only constraint was concern for Ramsey. If she did not flee to him, however, the Nawab would have no reason to take vengeance on him.

  She knew that her only escape from her dilemma was by swift action. The Nawab and his minions who were keeping her under surveillance would expect her to fly by night, if she did try to escape. The Nawab would send for his own astrologers and they would, as usual, tell him what they knew he wanted to hear: that there were no ill omens about his taking possession of her that very day. He would undoubtedly send for her that night.

  She did not lack money. The Nawab had rewarded her lavishly the previous evening. Hugh had pressed a generous gift upon her when he sold the Nawab all those guns. Her house of entertainment had been highly profitable. She had a valuable collection of jewels. She had already a considerable accumulation of savings when she came to Nekshahr.