There was no snow on the ground as yet, and they reached Peshawar safely enough. Peshawar lay in a vast depression in the hills, although still a considerable height above sea-level, and was surrounded by mountains, forbiddingly snow-covered, which reach up to the sky.
‘How far is Kabul?’ she asked Batraj.
‘From here, not far at all. But it is in the mountains,’ he told her.
*
They remained several days in Peshawar, because Batraj was ailing to join a caravan bound for Kabul and then the trade routes of Central Asia.
‘One needs strength in the mountains,’ he said. ‘The people are very bad.’
Strange words for a Thug, she thought.
But she understood what he meant as they traversed the Khyber pass. It was now paralysingly cold, but worse than the weather were the men who sometimes came close to look at them and, when they stopped for the night, to trade. They were all armed with ancient muskets and long knives and swords and spears.
‘They will cut a man’s throat as soon as shake his hand,’ Batraj told her. ‘And to those that fall into their hands after a battle their women are absolute devils.’
Laura was glad he had waited after all; the caravan numbered several hundred souls, and was obviously too strong to attack.
The next day, although it was almost April, they experienced their first snowstorm. Laura rode with Sivitraj in her arms all the time; she was afraid the little boy, so unused to this climate, might catch his death of cold.
But they all remained very healthy, and after only a week of really hard travelling, they topped yet another line of hills and looked down on Kabul.
Bombay, 16 September, 1830
Yesterday afternoon, Prudence and I returned from our honeymoon in Madras.
The wedding, as weddings go, was a quiet affair. There was some criticism of Colonel Partridge, my father-in-law, for throwing his only child to a junior officer with no fortune and little prospects. The fact is that he wished Prudence, who is now twenty-one and has even less prospects than I, to be a wife, and I was her first choice.
In the circumstances, therefore, it was deemed proper to have a very quiet wedding.
Thus I find myself a very married man. I use the word ‘very’ advisedly. Prudence is a dear sweet girl, but with set ideas on when and how and even where certain events should take place.
It is not that our marriage has not been consummated. Far from it; it has been consummated time and again, with total acceptance upon the part of my dear wife. However...damn it, if a man cannot confide in his own journal...The fact of the matter is that Prudence understands that our marriage has been consecrated by God, and that it is her duty to submit parts of her body to my male lust in the hopes that she will one day — soon she prays — perform her female function and become pregnant. In this regard she recognises that such part of her body as lies between her navel and her knees, in front, must be exposed for this purpose, and is prepared to raise her nightgown for the required few minutes, while herself assuming the position of a corpse. She raises no objection when I seek to touch her breasts so long as I do not linger. However, she steadfastly refuses to bare them, and there is all the difference in the world between naked flesh and that same flesh covered with cloth. And my seeking, during our initial moments of passion, to possess those far larger and more gracious curves at the rear, earned me a buffet which made my head spin.
When I think of my dusky charmer, who would present her plump little cheeks for my adulation, confident that I should seek to prosper by that route and no other...my imagination cannot envision Prudence’s reaction should I ever seek to roll her on her face. My head would be spinning for a month.
But there it is. Half a loaf is better than no bread at all, and if I am required, as the Colonel’s son-in-law, to appear the most happily married man in Bombay, no doubt I shall be, in the course of time.
Actually, I doubt it. Prudence unfortunately does not like dogs. Being a dear sweet girl who understands men’s weaknesses, she has not gone so far as to command me to get rid of my little family, but she has instituted certain rules. Rufus, Regina and the puppy are forbidden the house and must sleep in a kennel in the yard, where they howl most dolefully as they recall the happy nights they spent snuggled in my warm bed. Indeed, sometimes I feel it was warmer then than now.
Yet, all is not darkness and gloom. I have, as the Colonel’s son-in-law, some prospects looming on the horizon. Smythe has been invalided home, so there is a captaincy vacant in the regiment. Partridge has hinted that it may well be mine, so I live in hopes.
Politically, it is quiet here. With the disappearance of Batraj, Thuggish activity has quite died down. What has happened to that scoundrel is anyone’s guess. We did receive a report that he sought asylum in the jaghir of a woman known as the Begum Sombre, a lady who has a reputation for every vice known under the sun, and some which are best only practised in darkness. However, it appears that she turned him out for fear of vengeance.
John Company is a terrible adversary!
Thus the scoundrel has disappeared, and with him, needless to say, the perfidious Laura. No doubt they have both long since been murdered by bandits. A fitting end for a Thug. But Laura...I have to confess that I still dream of her, and dream too of holding her in my arms.
But she is only a dream.
There is one political matter which holds out some promise of a break in the monotony. It seems that there has been a revolution in Afghanistan. This mountainous country, situated far beyond our dominions, is as old as the hills in which it resides, and has gone under a variety of names, of which Bactria, Gandara, Transoxiana, Tukharistan, Ghazni, and now Afghanistan are but a few. In its olden days it even received the phalanxes of Alexander the Great, who founded a host of cities, named, as was his wont, after himself. These names have largely been corrupted, but I understand that his is still a revered name in those parts.
More recently the country has acted as a pathway for men like Tamerlane and Babur the Mughal. No-one who has anything to do with India can forget that it was through those mountain passes of Afghanistan that Timur descended upon northern India and sacked Delhi in 1398, or that Babur followed the same route in 1526 and Nadir Shah less than a century ago. Since then the power has lain south of the Hindu Kush rather than north of it. But times change, and in recent years it has always been of interest to John Company to know just what is going on in that remote land. This is one area in which the Rajputs of Rajasthan and even the Sikhs in Kashmir make common ground with us: they mortally fear the forces that lie beyond the mountain. Now this force is again a most powerful one: Russia.
Thus it has behoved the Company to make sure that in Kabul there is a ruler who will keep his mountain passes closed. Heaven knows we have no desire to go north. All we want is for him to make sure no Cossack army comes south. To this end, in 1809 we reached an agreement with the then Amir, Shah Shuja, that as long as he resisted any encroachment upon his territory, we would come to his aid with all possible despatch were he assaulted by the Tsar.
Alas, we were not dealing with Europeans. The palace politics of Asiatic kingdoms almost defy description. Shah Shuja only obtained the throne of Afghanistan by rebelling against and deposing his brother Mahmud, who had in fact deposed his elder brother, the rightful amir Zaman Shah. Mahmud had the foresight to blind his poor brother, and thus put him permanently out of the question. Shuja omitted to take this desperate step, with the result that only a year after we had signed our treaty, Mahmud led a counter-revolution and regained his throne. Shuja escaped and made his way into our territory, where he has remained ever since, importuning our governors-general to reinstate him, as he claims we are bound to do.
However, our treaty with him called for us to defend him against foreign encroachment, not an internal revolt, and especially one where he was in the wrong. On the other hand, Mahmud naturally turned his back on any agreements made by Shuja. Fortunately, he was able to set u
p quite a strong kingdom, with the support of a soldier and leader named Fath Ali Khan, whom he appointed vizier, or prime minister, and who appeared hostile to both Russia and Britain.
Then Fath Ali Khan and his master fell out, Mahmud was again put to flight, and the Khan became amir. Still there was little cause for alarm here in India, save amongst the adherents of the unhappy Shuja.
However, in 1826 Fath Ali Khan died, and was succeeded by his brother Dost Mohammed. This was considered of no great importance to the company, but now, word is being received that Dost Mohammed is entertaining Russian ministers and officers at his court in Kabul.
For the time being, we are simply going to make representations, and wait to see what the outcome of these will be.
One thing is certain, if an expedition should be determined upon, even if it means a lengthy separation from my dear wife, I intend to volunteer.
8 The Conquest
The walled city of Kabul lay in a valley between the Asmai and Sherdawaza mountain ranges, but even the valley was nearly six thousand feet above sea level.
Laura knew that Kabul was one of the oldest cities in the world, having been in existence for more than three thousand years, its importance lying in its position, dominating the best trade route from Central Asia to India.
Here she found herself in an even more bewildering world than Agra; though the city was not as large, it seemed to be more crowded, and most people spoke a variety of Persian, which she could not understand.
Batraj was taken immediately before Dost Mohammed, and he made Laura and Sivitraj accompany him. Laura found herself in a splendid and clearly very old palace, but the court was truly barbaric; she was surrounded by Pathan and Afghan chieftains, with tulwars thrust through their sashes, and pistols and daggers, while their faces were covered in bristling beards and moustaches.
No women were present, and she realised that she was now in a totally Muslim country. For that reason she was wrapped up in a bourka which concealed her entirely, leaving her only a little woven grille to see through.
Batraj now revealed yet another facet of his remarkable personality by speaking fluent Persian, as he explained his situation to Dost Mohammed. The Afghan ruler had a strong, evil face, in which nose and bearded chin and eyes were all prominent. When he looked at Laura she could not repress a shudder.
‘His Highness would look more closely upon you, and the boy,’ Batraj said, and beckoned her forward.
She clutched Sivitraj to her breast as she advanced.
Dost Mohammed stared at her for several seconds, before smiling and speaking.
Whatever he said pleased Batraj, who also smiled as he replied. Then Dost Mohammed got up. For a moment Laura thought he was going to touch her, and her knees shook. But instead he tickled the baby Rajah and made Sivitraj laugh.
Then they were dismissed, and escorted to apartments in the palace. Laura continued to be impressed by the evidence of ancient wealth and power, the carved and inlaid wood, the domed ceilings, the soft rich carpets on the floors.
‘We will have a home of our own as soon as one can be arranged,’ Batraj told her. ‘The Amir is pleased to welcome us here. He regards the Company as his greatest enemy. Are you not pleased?’
‘I am pleased to be finished with travelling for a while,’ Laura said, and set Sivitraj on the floor.
‘So am I,’ Batraj said, and took her hand to lead her into their bedchamber. ‘Do you realise that you and I have never slept in true comfort before?’
The room was certainly comfortable, and beautifully appointed. The divan was even bigger than the one she had shared with Sitraj, strewn with rugs and cushions, and the doors at the back gave access to a delightful garden with the invariable bathing pool.
‘I had never imagined such luxury could exist in such an inhospitable place,’ Laura observed.
‘Kabul is one of the centres of the world. This palace once belonged to Babur, indeed he is buried in the city. There is much evidence of past greatness in Central Asia. It is the part of the world from whence all greatness stems,’ Batraj said reverently. ‘From here I too will seek greatness. Now come...’ he unwound her sari. ‘Lie with me in our new home, and know happiness.’
He was irresistible, even had she possessed the strength or the means to resist him. Two months later she realised she was pregnant.
*
Laura was horrified.
Batraj was delighted. Now you are truly my wife,’ he said. ‘You will give me a strong son.’
‘I cannot bear your child,’ she cried.
‘You mean you do not wish to. You most certainly can. You above all women are made for child-bearing.’
‘Let me lose it, Batraj,’ she begged.
‘You will bear the child,’ he told her. ‘And love him as much as you do Sivitraj.’
She had felt a prisoner ever since arriving in Kabul. Because Muslim women were naturally prisoners in a European sense, Afghan society was complex in that a good proportion of the population was not Muslim, and those women went about freely and unveiled, but only among the lower orders. Certainly a dowager rani was expected to live a very discreet life.
For the first two months she had been slowly, by means of continuous bathing and washing, getting rid of the dye; Batraj was anxious to have her pale skin and yellow hair back in his embrace. Apparently he had told Dost Mohammed of her beauty, and however sinful it might be for a true believer to look upon another man’s wife, Dost Mohammed wished to do so, and Batraj wished to humour his host in everything. Thus he would not permit her to leave their apartment until her colour had been fully restored, and this tedious operation had only just been completed when she discovered her condition. Now she went into a far more complete purdah than before, with only Miljah, Vijay’s woman Nanja, and Sivitraj for company.
When she was nearly restored to her proper complexion she was escorted down secret corridors and shown into Dost Mohammed’s harem, where she was introduced to the Amir’s wives, concubines and children. There were a great number of these, and they were all very interested in Laura’s golden hair, which was so strange to them, but as Laura had as yet picked up only a word or two of Persian she could take little part in their excited chatter. The whole atmosphere of the harem made her feel uneasy, as most of the women clearly had close relationships with each other, while the eunuchs moved about them with obvious intimacy.
Although Batraj spent as much time with her as ever, from the day Miljah confirmed her condition he never attempted to touch her. In one way this was a blessed relief, but it still confused her.
‘What will he do?’ she asked the slave. She could not imagine Batraj existing without a woman.
‘The Amir has given him two concubines,’ Miljah said.
Laura could not decide whether to be pleased or anxious. One half of her, which still clung to her English ideals, hoped that his new women would please him so much that he never came back to her; but the other was almost jealous — she did not know if she could now live without a man.
*
It was a great relief to Laura when, as promised, the exiled Rajah of Sittapore was given a home of his own.
This was a small palace not far from the Amir’s, situated next to the Bala Hissar or central square of the city. Hardly more than a large house, it was very comfortable, enclosing a centre courtyard with a pool and a fountain. There was a retinue of servants. It was during the move that Laura first met Batraj’s concubines, and was disgusted to discover that they were hardly more than fourteen or fifteen. They giggled all the time, especially when they looked at the Dowagar Rani.
As Laura was now several months pregnant and looking, she felt, at her worst, she burst into tears once she gained the privacy of her apartments.
‘Why do you not whip them?’ Nanja asked.
‘What?’
Nanja, although she had elected to follow her husband into the ranks of the Thugs, was the daughter of one of Sittapore’s wealthiest citizens.
Dark-skinned, voluptuous and boldly handsome, she had rigid concepts of power and responsibility, certainly within the home. ‘You are the Dowager Rani, and Prince Batraj’s wife, Highness,’ she said. ‘You have absolute power within his household. If the girls offend you, whip them.’
Laura had never considered her status before. While she had been Rani of Sittapore, she had never in any way considered herself superior to Sitraj’s other wives. And since his death, she had thought of herself only as Batraj’s slave.
Now she realised that what Nanja had said was indeed true. Batraj had introduced her to Dost Mohammed and to all Kabul as his wife. In a Muslim community he must obey Muslim laws, and that made her absolute mistress of his household, no matter how many other wives he might take. His rights over her consisted of the privilege of taking her to bed, which he could not presently do; of beating her himself, which again was not at the moment possible, as he dearly wanted her child; of killing her if he found her guilty of adultery; or of divorcing her if he grew weary of her.
But was not to be divorced by Batraj something to be dreamed of? On the other hand how could she survive in this wild land, save as Batraj’s wife? The possibility of being claimed by one of those ferocious mountain chieftains, or even by Dost Mohammed, was too terrible to contemplate.
*
Laura decided against whipping the two girls. The idea was attractive, both in itself and as a release for her tensions and frustrations, but to give way to such a desire would be to lower herself one more rung of the ladder into becoming entirely Indian. She knew that her only hope of eventual salvation was to preserve as much of her English upbringing, the mores and morals of her childhood, as possible.
So she put up with the giggles and the snide remarks behind her back.
Sword of Empire Page 17