by John Masters
Krishna turned to the Brahmin. ‘Now, pandit-ji.’
The Brahmin said, ‘Prince ... the Rawal of Basohli told me, when he selected me as the pandit to accompany you over the Black Water, of the talk that you and he and your august grandfather had had in the temple the night you proposed that the regiment be offered to the British Sirkar. He told me that the sending of the regiment was like the sending of Lord Krishna, your namesake, to Hastina as an ambassador to find out whether it was to be peace or war between the two kingdoms. The new things we have learned, the battles we have taken part in, the defeats we have suffered, the victories we have achieved through such as Himat Singh--all these are as nothing. They are no more than the playing of light and shadow upon the question, and the question was--peace or war, between them and us. We have seen much that is good and noble. More, far more, that is ignoble, debasing of man and god alike. I say therefore that the answer we take back to Ravi is ... war. We shall not surrender any more to their ideas. They shall force nothing more on us. There shall be no union or accommodation between us.’
Krishna Ram said gently, ‘I understand, pandit-ji. But how shall that decision be interpreted in the matter before us now?’
The Brahmin said, ‘It is of no consequence. Fight. Surrender. It does not matter. Our embassy is ended. Soon or late we shall return to Bharat-desh, and inform our sovereign of our thoughts.’ The doctor said slowly, in the halting Hindi he had acquired during his fourteen months with the regiment, ‘You mean ... total rejection of the west? Their medicine and science, too?’
‘Yes,’ the Brahmin said.
‘Government? Engineering? Farming? All that the sowars have been studying, hoping to adapt to conditions in Ravi?’
‘Yes,’ the Brahmin said firmly. ‘There can be no compromise. Either we follow the light of the Lord Vishnu or we follow these foreign gods. We cannot do both.’
The doctor said, ‘I cannot go quite that far...’ A whistling shriek presaged the burst of a shell somewhere close by. One of the candles went out in the shiver of air from the explosion. Sohan Singh relit it. The doctor continued almost without a break, ‘I am a Christian, you know ... I think that we who have seen so much here, and learned so much, have a duty to tell the rest of our people about what we have learned, to enable them to separate what is good from what is bad about the European way of life. They--our people--are so uneducated that, if not advised, they must take all or nothing. It is our privilege to be able to show them how to make distinctions ... It is therefore imperative that we survive in order to carry this knowledge back to India. I am for surrender.’
Krishna glanced at Sohan Singh, who spread his fat hands. ‘Yuvraj ... as for this embassy, I agree with the pandit-ji. I have learned nothing from the merchants I have dealt with. I came ready for the honesty the Christians talk of, and I was prepared to be honest myself in turn ... but they act no differently from the greediest Basohli bazaar thief. Nor are they very intelligent. I have amassed over two lakhs of rupees for the regiment with no exertion and no risk, not from my acumen but from their stupidity, and greed.’
‘And half a lakh for yourself, I don’t doubt,’ Krishna said dryly. ‘What do you advise here?’
‘Surrender,’ the quartermaster said. ‘Thinking that this might happen at some time, I long ago prepared ways of transferring some money into Germany. Wherever they imprison us, we and the sowars will be well looked after.’
From the gloom Warren Bateman muttered hoarsely, ‘Treason! There must be no surrender.’
Krishna said, ‘Rissaldar-sahib?’
Rissaldar Ram Lall leaned forward where he squatted with the rest of them. ‘We are fighting men,’ he said. ‘We cannot return to our homes and say we gave up before we had to. Who knows what may happen tomorrow? We must hold on here.’
Krishna looked at Warren Bateman and said, ‘I presume you would continue to fight, sir?’
‘Of course I would,’ Warren said. ‘And when you are court martialled, as you certainly will be, it will be for cowardice as well as for mutiny if you order a surrender now.’
‘Rissaldar-major-sahib ? ‘
‘As I said, lord, I do not think it is proper for me to take part in this panchayat since it is being held against the orders of the true commanding officer.’
Bateman broke in, ‘Speak, sahib. You may be able to save them from a greater disgrace.’
The rissaldar-major said, ‘As the presence orders ... My lord, sahibs assembled--as to this talk of an embassy, I understand only dimly what is meant. I was a servant of the Sirkar while this was being discussed in Basohli. But I understand enough to say that unless there is a mighty change of heart in all India, it will serve nothing to try to reject what the English and the others have brought. Does anyone here know a peasant who, being offered a ride in a motor car, will walk? Or, being shown a tap with running water, will insist on carrying water half a mile from the well? He who preaches keeping to all our old ways must act upon the minds and hearts of Indians, not against the inventions of Europeans. It is in my mind that our first task is neither to accept all nor to reject all that the Europeans have brought, but to decide each case on its merits. But, as men, we must prove that we can stand level with them. I, who have eaten the Sirkar’s salt, cannot stand level with anyone if I fail now in my duty. Our clear duty is to fight. If help comes, so much the better for our wives and children. If not, we shall go to join the army of the Sun.’
‘Not today,’ the Brahmin said gloomily. ‘Indra has hidden his face from us for the past seven days.’
‘Which was the duration of the war in heaven,’ Krishna said. Another shell burst in No Man’s Land, but closer. He continued, ‘My friends ... subjects of my grandfather ... citizens of Bharat-desh ... as you have all agreed, our embassy to the west is ended. We have tried all the methods which the wisdom of our ancestors laid down ... Sam--we have spent thirteen months asking, seeing, observing, discussing ... Dan--we have given our blood, our money, our labour, our very lives to Europe ... Bhed--we have created a rift among them, for some think one thing about us and some another. Perhaps the rift would have become deeper if we--I am particularly to blame--had not turned at last to dand, physical force. As my grandfather warned, we came here young and will return old, having learned much that we would prefer to have remained innocent of ... It is time we went back to our own earth, our own sun. As to what we do when we get there, I stand like a cow on four legs--one is the word of the Brahmin--utter rejection; and one is the word of the doctor; and one the word of Sohan Singh; and one the word of the rissaldar-major. Where then is my heart? My head? It is my opinion that we must get back to Bharat-desh and there decide, as we face each problem, which is the proper leg to stand on for that moment, that problem ... As to what we do now, I think we shall not surrender here, because we are decided that we shall no longer surrender there, in Bharat-desh. Shall we then simply hold on here, hoping that the British will rescue us? No, because that is what we must not do in Bharat-desh. We must rescue ourselves in order to be free. We will fight our way out.’
‘Lord,’ Rissaldar Ram Lall said doubtfully, ‘there will be no artillery support.’
‘We have seen many attacks,’ Krishna said. ‘Did the artillery ever destroy the wire, the machine guns? No, we must rely on our own ways, of speed, and stealth. We will carry no weapons but the bayonets. We will move by dark. Pandit-ji, look to your astrological tables and tell me when the gods will that we move.’
‘I do not have them with me, lord,’ the Brahmin said, ‘but your highness is surely aware that tomorrow is your birthday. You were born at ten minutes before noon. Of a certainty, that will be an auspicious moment.’
‘But, pandit-ji,’ Krishna said jovially, ‘that’s broad daylight. And the Germans won’t wait that long ... Hold! I was born in India, was I not?’
‘Of course, lord,’ the Brahmin said wonderingly. ‘In Basohli.’
‘Don’t you remember how they kept changing the c
locks on the ship?’ Krishna said. ‘Five and a half hours altogether ... take five and a half hours off 11.50 and you get 6.20. I was born at 6.20 a.m., French time.’
‘As the presence pleases,’ the Brahmin said dubiously.
Krishna said, ‘Which is half an hour before first light. We shall move at that hour. And the men certainly need some sleep. So be it. What is the strength of the regiment here, now?’
‘Three hundred,’ Sohan Singh said.
Krishna said, ‘Let every man be asked personally whether he wishes to come with us, or stay here to surrender to the Germans after we have gone. Let every man who comes with me tie the handkerchief round his right wrist... I will give orders to squadron commanders here in half an hour.’
The quartermaster said hesitantly, ‘Prince ... I have a thought ... I may be out of my proper senses, but...’
‘Speak up, man,’ Krishna said testily, ‘what is it?’
‘It is the second day of Dussehra. I had brought up some sets of nautch clothes, with the extra ammunition. I was going to get some of the best dancers dressed, and let them dance, to a little music, in the Aid Post, in the reserve trenches, in the dugouts, so that the men would have a little something of Dussehra, and...’
‘By the eyes of Vishnu, you are right! ‘ Krishna exclaimed. ‘You were going to suggest that some of us wear the costumes! Yes! Distribute them, as many as you have, to the men who will be around me--my bodyguards, Hanuman, the rissaldar-major-sahib.’
‘It will make you more conspicuous,’ Rissaldar Ram Lall said doubtfully.
‘I hope so,’ Krishna said. ‘Now, let us pray in silence.’
He bent over, palms joined, and prayed, then rose to his feet. The members of the panchayat filed out, making namasti. Warren Bateman said, ‘You’re mad.’
Krishna replied, ‘No, I am just coming to my senses.’
At five o’clock in the morning Krishna arose and went out. He waited till his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, but after five minutes still could not make out the shape of the sentry at the end of the bay. The air was thick, wet and motionless. He realized that a dense fog had settled on to the land. He stripped to the Indian testicle bag he had taken to wearing instead of European underpants, and ceremonially washed from head to toe in water which Hanuman poured into his hand from a big German container. The Brahmin watched, praying.
When he finished, Krishna returned inside the dugout, where Hanuman and the two bodyguards dressed him in the white ceremonial costume worn by the character dancing the part of his namesake the demi-god Krishna in the epics. A huge tinsel sunburst decorated the front of his red turban, and a smaller one, representing the Sun of Ravi, shone on the left breast of his yellow silk tunic. The sword stuck through his sash was an ancient Rajput blade, heavily curved, that was much used in the dance. Krishna felt the edge, and gave it to his orderly. ‘Sharpen it, Hanuman. We are not going to dance with it today.’
He turned to the watching Brahmin. ‘Are you staying here, pandit-ji?’
The Brahmin fell on his knees. ‘Lord, is there permission?’ His voice quavered. ‘I am not a man of war, but I would a thousand times rather come with you, reciting prayers at your side as we Brahmins did in olden times at the side of the Kings of Ravi, than that you should turn your face from me afterwards, because I did not come.’
‘No, pandit-ji,’ Krishna said, pulling the man gently to his feet, ‘your prayers will be heard from here, as well as from my side, if the Lord Vishnu wishes to hear them at all. Put on my tilak--red today.’
That done, he walked on down the trench. Outside the Aid Post he found Sohan Singh also in white, and said, ‘Are you coming with us, Sohan, or will you stay here with the wounded?’
‘And spend the next ten years in a prison camp in Germany?’ Sohan said. ‘I would lose a crore of rupees! Of course, I might be able to bribe myself out as soon as I could get my father to send money from Basohli.’ He shook his head and his jowls wobbled. ‘But I could not count on it. The commandant of the camp might be impervious to bribes. Some such people exist. No, lord, I will come with you.’
‘Good ... Are the men eating?’
‘What they have, lord, and some bread the Germans left behind. Also German schnapps, a tot for each man.’
Krishna went down into the Aid Post. Captain Ramaswami was sitting on the operating table, drinking something out of a mess tin. ‘My goodness,’ he said, looking at Krishna’s finery. ‘We are going to re-enact the Mahabharta in Artois! ... This is the schnapps. It’s good stuff. Have some.’
Krishna waved it away, smiling. ‘No compromise! ... The Brahmin will be staying with you here, and about twenty fit men from the squadrons, who don’t want to come with us. Soon after first light put up a white flag and surrender to whoever the Germans send in.’
‘I should come with you,’ the doctor said. ‘Though I don’t think you have a hope of getting through.’
‘Why not?’ Krishna said. ‘Vishnu has already given us a dense fog, to go with our white clothes. We shall continue to obey him, not the European gods--the machines, the guns. We have proved again and again that weight of metal does not achieve results ... We are not going to stop for wounded, doctor. You stay here. You will be able to practise your profession in the prison camp. Perhaps they will even let you out to help the women. There must be a great shortage of doctors in Germany, too.’
Ramaswami said, ‘Is that an order?’
Krishna said, ‘It is my wish, as Prince of Ravi.’
The doctor said sarcastically, ‘Your wish is my command. Very well, I will do as you want ... What about Colonel Bateman?’
‘Is he fit to move?’
‘Yes,’ the doctor said. ‘He’s in slight shock, but he can move, provided it isn’t too far, and too long. But...’
‘Then I will take him with us.’
‘I was going to say you would be wise to leave him here with me. Then he cannot give evidence against you until the end of the war. No one’s going to take any action then.’
‘That’s the reason I must take him with me,’ Krishna said. ‘We can’t be free unless we do what we must do, openly.’
‘You’re mad, Yuvraj,’ the doctor said gruffly. ‘But perhaps India needs some madness to survive. Good luck.’
‘Thank you.’ He shook the doctor’s outstretched hand and returned to his dugout.
He knelt beside the bunk where Warren Bateman lay, his eyes open. The colonel was muttering, ‘Joan ... I could understand ... hurt as much as I thought... But you, Di...’
The rissaldar-major, sitting on the next bunk, said, ‘He talks to himself much, sahib.’
Krishna shook Warren gently and said, ‘Sir ... sir...’
The eyes opened wider and Warren sat up, gasping, ‘Di!’ and then, after a pause, ‘What is it? Are the Germans attacking?’
‘We shall be moving soon. I’m going to have the rissaldar-major untied to go at your side, and there will be four sowars to help carry you if you become tired. Rissaldar-major-sahib, look after the colonel-sahib at all costs.’
‘I shall, sahib.’
‘Keep close behind me. We’ll be with A Squadron. I had intended to keep the squadrons well spread out, and separated, but with this fog I’m ordering them to keep concentrated. Dress in these clothes. May Parmeshwar guard you, sahib.’
The RM, freed, began to change. When he was ready, the handkerchief tied around his wrist, he drew his sabre from its scabbard, and said, ‘We are ready.’
Six-fifteen. Krishna passed down the trench in the swirling fog, his sword on one shoulder. As he passed, the men, all in white here, fell to one knee and, reaching out, touched his foot or the hem of his tunic. Their faces, pearled with moisture, were eager and uplifted as though they had taken drugs, though they had not.
Six-twenty. Silently Krishna climbed out of the trench, compass in hand. The bearing of the retreat was 270 magnetic, due west. The fog seemed to carry its own light within it, for he sto
od in an eery white glow, sensing the white-clothed men coming up out of the trenches and spreading out in tight lines to right and left.
He began to move. He could reach out and touch the nearest men on either hand, but the fog deadened all sound. The massed ghosts, naked bayonets or sabres in hand, drifted silently, like the fog, over the muddy, churned earth. The ground was littered with corpses from the attacks on Fosse-Garde, dead brown faces upturned in the fog, in some places so thick that he had difficulty not treading on them, rifles abandoned and broken, wire coiled across shell holes, here bodies jumbled where a heavy shell had burst in a crater full of men, humped rubble of bricks, arms sticking out of sandbagged revetments, the trail of a German gun long broken and abandoned. They came to wire, which Krishna thought had been in front of the old British second line; but it had been cut in many places by shell fire and perhaps by German assault parties, and not repaired, for now it was facing the wrong way. The sowars drifted through with little more difficulty than the fog itself. The trench was occupied only by a sleepy sentry, who had no time to sound the alarm gong before a sowar slid his bayonet into his neck. Then they were up and out the far side. Guttural shouts arose behind, quickly swallowed. A machine gun close at hand began to fire, but Krishna thought it was firing the wrong way. Some stirring of the fog, as though by a giant hand, warned him that light was coming. They passed another line of trenches, this one unoccupied, or perhaps the men in it were all asleep in the dugouts and had posted no sentries. Now they must be near the end of the old British trench system. How far had the Germans penetrated? They certainly had not had time to dig more trenches beyond whatever they had captured.
The ground began to shake to heavy artillery fire to the right, the north. The fire seemed to be coming from British guns. Perhaps they were launching a counter-offensive. It would be the normal time of day to do so.
A helmeted, grotesquely masked figure appeared, another beside him. A machine gun loomed nearby. Krishna and the rissaldar-major charged silently, six others with them. The Germans’ yells of terror were stifled in the masks, and choked off as they died, heads rolling and blood spouting over the ground. Krishna kept steadily on. Why were the Germans wearing gas masks? There was no gas in the air.