Zemindar

by Valerie Fitzgerald

  Only much later did I begin to take in the fact that I had actually killed a fellow human being.

  That was after Toddy-Bob had returned, leading a well-saddled horse, followed in a few moments by Oliver and the intelligence that there was no sign of any other men.

  ‘Probably a lone deserter from a cavalry regiment, broken away from his comrades and more anxious to return to his village than reinstate the King of Delhi. Poor devil!’ He turned the body over with his toe. ‘Well, he’ll never have to bother about his crops again. That was a good shot, Laura. Blew his chest in.’

  ‘Oh, don’t, Oliver! How can you be so unfeeling?’ I was standing on the far side of the cart, having no wish to examine my handiwork. ‘I’ve been thinking; if he was alone, he might only have been a thief, mightn’t he? He had seen Emily’s bracelet, and perhaps if we had given it to him, he’d have gone away.’ But my theory didn’t sound plausible even to me.

  ‘So, and what was the knife for then, picking his teeth? Here, have a look at it, Laura, that should still your uneasy conscience.’

  But I shuddered and turned away as he held the weapon out for my inspection. It was long and thin, a dagger I suppose one would call it, and a glance was sufficient to determine its deadliness.

  To my relief Oliver ignored Charles, who was hovering about still with pistol in hand, like a schoolboy waiting outside the headmaster’s study, and turned to Toddy as he stuck the knife in his belt.

  ‘Undress him, Tod. The jacket won’t be much good, but his breeches and puggaree are more appropriate to our supposed state in life than the things you are wearing; and you can clean up the jacket and sling it over your shoulder. Then throw him into the nullah over there. Nobody will be expecting him, so nobody will miss him, but we don’t want to leave any traces. Harness up the bullocks, Charles. We’ll get going immediately.’

  So it was that the party which left the clearing was very unlike the one that had taken shelter in it a few hours before. There were still three women and a baby in the covered cart, but beside them now rode a Pathan with his hand on his hip, his rifle in the saddle holster for all to see, while the cart itself was driven by a small man in the uniform of a sowar of the 7th Native Cavalry.

  The rendezvous was reached ahead of time.

  Light just tipped the topmost branches of the dusty wayside trees, but the serai was sleepily astir. Smoke rose lazily from a dozen cooking fires, pariah dogs crept out from under carts to search for food among the huddled bodies and the hooves of bullocks and horses, and mynas began to scold in the trees. One or two men carrying brass pots made their way down to the inevitable tank to make their ritual ablutions; the bunnia threw back the shutters of his shaky wooden booth, yawning hugely, and began to range his flat baskets of rice, lentils, gram and bright red chillies on old sacks laid on the ground before the booth. The clearing was redolent of woodsmoke, cow-dung and the sour scent of the scum-covered tank.

  Ishmial was there before us, and with him four stalwart figures in bedraggled livery, carrying flintlocks and clubs. We found them discreetly situated at the edge of the camping ground; they had been cooking, so we ate what they had prepared, Emily, Charles and I (as befitted Mohammedan females) remaining in the cover of the cart, while Toddy and Oliver squatted with the men around the fire and Oliver interrogated Ishmial regarding the state of the city.

  Lucknow, so Ishmial said, was in chaos, its inhabitants in a state of hysteria and liable to erupt at any moment into open and uncontrollable violence. The already vast population was augmented daily by the arrival of mutineers from outlying posts, armed, aggressive and anxious to prove their metal in combat. All the British, the troops from Mariaon, civilians from the city, together with their womenfolk, had been ordered into the Baillie Guard, while Mariaon Cantonments, that pleasant suburb of shady avenues and peaceful gardens, was deserted, its bungalows looted and burned.

  In great haste, earthworks and fortifications were being thrown up around the perimeter of the Residency (‘Still! Good God, that should have been finished weeks ago,’ Oliver exclaimed in English when he heard this), but the work was unfinished and when the rains broke, as they soon would, further work would be impossible.

  ‘It is said in the city,’ said Ishmial with awe, ‘that Lawrence Sahib has issued orders that no private property and no holy places must be destroyed, and so, as almost all property is private and every man’s home is holy, to him, many buildings still stand which should have been thrown down. Is this not the foolishness of the feringhi?’

  ‘It is,’ agreed Oliver grimly. ‘But is the Residency still open to access? Do people come in and go out freely?’

  Apparently they did. The English troops came and went and supplies streamed in from the bazaars, such loads of dhal, rice, atta, and sugar as made the bunnias’ eyes gleam daily more brightly. ‘For they believe, Sahib, that soon they will have it all back again to sell a second time—when the Sahib-log have been destroyed.’

  The police had mutinied too, and the city lay open to anarchy. The more prudent of the wealthy natives had withdrawn to their country estates, leaving their town houses to be looted and burned by a mob who acted without discrimination or favour in its lust for destruction. Wajid Khan also would have left Lucknow, but there was smallpox in his house near Fyzabad, and his estate near Hassanganj was too far away in these times when the roads were as dangerous as they had been in the days of the Thugs.

  ‘But these things are done at night, Sahib. Today we will traverse the city and find everything as it has been, except perhaps that it is quieter. The people sit in the houses and wait, watching for some sign, and only when darkness falls, the badmashes come out with their lathis and their knives.’

  We were silent when Ishmial ended, each of us occupied with his own vision of our immediate future, for I had tried to translate Ishmial’s words to Emily and Charles as he spoke them.

  Then Oliver got up and came to the cart. ‘Well, that’s it then. The Residency it will have to be, little as I care for the sound of it.’

  ‘Was there ever an alternative?’ asked Charles.

  ‘I had half an idea of trying to cut down to the Ganges, to Cawnpore. You might have been able to get some form of transport there to take you to Calcutta. But matters are too far gone for that, I’m afraid. It looks as though we must be grateful that the Residency is still open. Wajid Khan has sent a couple of palanquins, they are quicker than the cart and more comfortable. Also quite private. He is a most thoughtful gentleman is your brother, Laura.’

  We descended from the cart, unloaded our few possessions and transferred them to the palanquins, shabby affairs hung with dirty cotton curtains. The bearers sat smoking impassively and merely watched us as we worked. It struck me that they were somehow hostile to us, but then I realized they did not know the burqhas covered white women, and they would never have thought of helping their own womenfolk.

  It was decided that Emily and Charles should share one palanquin while I took Pearl with me in the second. Emily was reluctant to part with her child, but when it was pointed out that she would be cooler and more comfortable with me than crowded in with her parents, she agreed. Ishmial and Toddy-Bob would lope beside us along with the bodyguard, and Oliver, I presumed, would bring up the rear on the sowar’s horse.

  I was glad to climb into the odd conveyance and know myself safe from the curious eyes of other travellers, some of whom, chewing neem twigs to clean their teeth, had lounged up to our part of the serai and were watching our movements with that open interest which so disconcerts the conventions of the West. We were comfortably disposed and about to set off when Oliver parted the curtains of my palanquin and sat down on the flock mattress which formed its base. He had not shaved since leaving Hassanganj, and he smelt. But so did we all, I suppose.

  ‘Comfortable? No bugs?’ He glanced around the inside of the palanquin’s dusty hangings and ran a thumbnail along the seam of the mattress. ‘None in sight, but that doesn’t mean th
ere aren’t any. However, your journey won’t be long, and there are worse things after all.’

  Mosquitoes whined in the curtained dimness of the palanquin, and flies had swarmed in as Oliver lifted the dirty cotton to sit down; but I had not thought of bugs—or the more likely fleas. I shuddered away from the greasy bolster and examined my surroundings with new distaste. Oliver laughed at my reaction, then covered my hand with his own.

  ‘Goodbye, Laura,’ he said softly, his eyes fixed on mine. ‘I wish many things that have happened had not happened; even more, I wish many things that did not happen had happened. Still, regrets of that nature are pointless now. I can do nothing more for you for the moment, but some day—it will be a different story. In the meantime, will you think of me sometimes? Kindly, if possible?’

  ‘What do you mean? Surely you are coming with us? You are not leaving us now, Oliver. You can’t!’

  ‘But, m’dear, can you imagine me holed up with a lot of my compatriots in the Residency for more than a day without defecting to the mutineers?’

  Of course, he was joking. He had no option but to come with us, for he certainly could not return to Hassanganj.

  ‘Oh, do be serious!’ I snapped, drawing away my hand from his clasp. ‘What the devil else can you do? And do you think we are going to like it any better than you? What are you talking about, Oliver?’

  ‘I’m just saying goodbye and good luck, as a well-conducted host should do when he speeds a parting guest.’

  ‘You do mean it!’ I said unbelievingly, watching his dirty face and conscious of the whimsical tenderness in his eyes. ‘You really do. But, Oliver, you can’t leave us now. You mustn’t!’

  ‘But I must, Laura. I’ll explain it all sometime. I still have other affairs to attend to before matters get worse. Important affairs, I’m afraid, that cannot be delayed.’

  ‘But …’ And I paused to marshal my forces of persuasion.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I believe we are still in danger. Grave danger. I understood most of what Ishmial was telling you about the condition of the city. We will be in danger every step of the way with the people in the mood they’re in. You surely see that? How can you leave us now?’

  ‘The Residency is still open. You heard that too, I presume? Within an hour and a half you will be there, safe and sound among your friends. It is no distance from here, Laura, which is why we chose this place to meet. You have Wajid Khan’s men, and Charles, and I am leaving Toddy and Ishmial with you too. They have their instructions, and you know they can be relied on.’

  ‘And what do we know about Wajid Khan’s men? They might be cut-throats or dacoits; they certainly look it. What could Toddy and Ishmial do against so many, if there is any trouble? And as to Charles, why he’s as much a stranger here as I am, and anyway he is not … not as reliable as he should be.’

  At these words Oliver laughed. ‘Laura, I believe you are the most unscrupulous woman I know!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I acknowledged. ‘But you know that what I say is true; and, anyway, what affairs can you have now, with Hassanganj gone and your responsibilities with it, that are more pressing than doing your duty by your brother’s wife and child, to say nothing of me?’

  ‘None that you would acknowledge, perhaps,’ he said with something near bitterness in his voice. ‘But I have them all the same.’

  ‘But quite apart from us, apart from getting us to the Residency, has it not occurred to you that you might be needed here—if matters get out of hand and there really is a battle or something? Don’t you believe your presence would be necessary at such a time? There are those who will put a more … more sinister interpretation on your abandonment of us, and of your people, at such a moment.’

  I felt myself growing angry. Why was he always so trying? Why did he have to play into the hands of his detractors in this way? This was cowardice; that was what most of the men I knew would say, to refuse to assist one’s fellow countrymen in such a crisis.

  Perhaps he saw the genuine alarm on my face, for he took my hand again and patted it to reassure me.

  ‘Believe me, Laura, if I thought I could be of real assistance to you now, or even, believe it or not, to the others, I would come with you. But I know I have done as much as I need do now for your safety. No harm can come to you, and I truly do have something urgent to attend to. Very urgent.’

  Something in the way he spoke prevented me from asking what that urgent business was, and to be truthful I was far more concerned about my own immediate future than his.

  ‘Then … then when will we see you again?’ I asked after a moment.

  ‘Does it matter?’ There was more to the question than the words, so that I looked down at my hands in his and answered disingenuously, ‘We would not want to leave India without seeing you again.’

  ‘I doubt whether you will be leaving for some time.’

  ‘Then you do intend to return to Lucknow?’ And I looked up to find him watching me intently. ‘Oh, Oliver, do say you will come back—just as soon as you can. It will be so … so dangerous for you alone in the mofussil now.’

  ‘Your concern is very touching,’ he said gravely, but with a twitch at the corner of his lips. ‘Unfortunately it is more than ever true at the moment that what man proposes, God disposes. I cannot say what my movements will be. As to being alone in the mofussil, well, that’s what I have always been, and I prefer it that way. Within limits, of course, and even those limits are very newly acquired ones!’

  I knew precisely what he meant by the last remark, but any pleasure I might have derived from this oblique acknowledgement of his need for me was swamped in anger.

  His attitude was intolerable. The eccentricity, the intractability, the almost perverted desire for privacy which I had so often heard stigmatized in my erstwhile host, these unamiable qualities must have their root, not in marked individuality, as I had begun to think, but in unvarnished selfishness. There was no excuse possible for him. I drew myself up and as far from him as the confinement of the palanquin allowed.

  ‘I see!’ I said very coldly. ‘Very well. Far be it from me to deter you. But before you go, allow me to say, Oliver Erskine, that I think your attitude is altogether reprehensible, and your action quite unforgivable. I believe you are the most self-absorbed, and … and downright cowardly man I have ever had the ill-fortune to meet. And that I should be forced to this opinion of you, after all these months, and all that you have done for us, and …’

  I don’t think I expected him to be downcast and he certainly gave no indication of taking my strictures seriously. Instead, he laughed so heartily that I became uneasy about the others waiting outside hearing it and trying to ascribe a cause to the laughter.

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ he said. ‘That’s your fighting form back to normal. Now I know you will get through whatever trials may befall you with flying colours. That blaze in your eyes would scorch the beard off a mutineer at a hundred paces. As to the rest, woman dear …’ He paused to recapture my hands which I had drawn away from him. ‘I will come back—for your sake—and as soon as I can. You have shamed me into it. Anyway, I don’t believe I could stay away from where you are now. I will come back to you—for you!’

  Then he bent suddenly towards me and, before I could make a move to escape, had pressed his hard stubbly lips against mine. He released my hands and placed his arms around me, drawing me close against his chest.

  ‘Back to you—for you, Laura! I promise,’ he whispered as he drew away at last. For a moment he laid his cheek against mine, then stood up, dropped the curtain of the palanquin and was gone.

  I heard him mount the dead sowar’s horse, call a farewell in Urdu and gallop away down the road we had come, the long road to Hassanganj.

  The darkness of the stuffy palanquin was suddenly welcome. I needed its privacy in which to weep.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘Uttho! Uttho!’ the bearers cried, and in a moment I was heaved up in my curtained darknes
s that smelt of coconut oil, betel nut and greasy cotton and we were on our way.

  The palanquin swayed rhythmically as the bearers jog-trotted through the crowded, now fully-awake serai, crying themselves a clear passage through the vehicles, livestock and people with a sharp, nasal note of warning, then settled into a more regular rhythm as we gained the broad, rutted road, their bare feet making no sound in the yellow dust. I could not guess the direction we were taking but, through the curtains, could hear muffled voices, sometimes the cries of vendors selling water, fruit or parched gram; I could hear the squeaking axles of bullock-carts and the rattle as a high-wheeled ekka, its tiny platform under a roof of thatch crowded with an entire family, drove past stirring up a cloud of dust. I heard horses canter past, and once we passed a line of camels wearing their special brass bells, while often the deep slow note of an elephant bell served to remind me of peaceful mornings on the verandah at Hassanganj. There seemed to be a throng of people around us, all making their way into the awakening town, and I hoped heartily, now that Oliver was gone, that Wajid Khan’s retainers would prove reliable.

  The motion of the palanquin soon put Pearl to sleep and, as the moments passed, my first anxiety for our safety grew less, and my mind dwelt more on the behaviour of Oliver Erskine. There was no point in weeping, so I wiped my eyes, sniffed and set myself to discover the reason for his behaviour. Always unpredictable, this latest step was inexplicable. To have accompanied us so far, through so many difficulties surmounted with such resourcefulness; to have used ingenuity and energy in assuring our escape to begin with and then the safe continuance of our journey; and now to leave us when our bourne was in sight, was beyond my comprehension.