Batraj was clearly disgusted by Akbar’s decision not to hold on to Kabul, and was thus again forced to watch the collapse of all his plans.
She realised that, with another of those astonishing contradictions which dominated his character, he had quite forgiven her for running away, and was in fact as loving to her as he had always been. As ever in the past, his changes of mood left her confused. She hated him, yet he was her husband. Once again, there was an ambivalence to her feelings for him when he made love to her.
Yet she still desperately wanted to escape him, and she now knew that the only way this could be accomplished would be through his death.
She wondered if she would ever have the resolution to kill him?
Kabul, 20 September 1841
We are in control of the city! Five days ago, we marched in after very little fighting. Akbar has fled, and his army and most of his people with him. Kabul is quite deserted.
Sir George, who has led us from victory to victory, and has shown these brigands what an English army can do when properly commanded, has decreed that there shall be no looting. Our vengeance is to be carried out in an orderly fashion. The Bala Hissar, the scene of the murder of poor McNaghton and Burnes, is to be burned to the ground. The Royal Palace is to be similarly treated. As this building has stood for many hundreds of years this may appear as an act of wanton destruction, but its demolition is intended to serve as indication that our war has been against the perfidious rulers of Afghanistan and not their people.
But now we have been informed that our expedition, and the previous one in 1839, and all the many lives that have been lost, have been to no purpose whatsoever. Dost Mohammed is to be returned to the throne! In fact this gentleman is apparently already on his way from his Indian exile to take up his position once more. His only inconvenience will be the necessity of building a new palace!
Can this be credited? Do not the bones of some ten thousand people — I do not include the Afghans in this total —who followed the Union Jack to and from this benighted spot, cry out in horror at such a waste?
The Company, it seems, has decided that it would be too costly to maintain our presence here. Undoubtedly pressure has been brought to bear by the Government in London, who possibly fear a full-scale confrontation with Russia. But why were these factors not previously considered? I fear such events are enough to turn a man into a cynic, or at least to make him question the abilities of those who so carelessly order us into battle.
It is said that Dost Mohammed has given the most concrete assurances that he will keep himself free of Russian influence. But we have heard assurances from Dost Mohammed before! Can it be that, after all our vacillations, our triumphs and our disasters, we shall one day have to mount yet another expedition into these mountains? Should this ever happen, then indeed the entire British establishment in India will stand condemned before history for its utter incompetence.
At least we have achieved something of value, in that we have regained all but one of the ninety-five surviving prisoners held by the Afghans. To tell the truth, these largely rescued themselves. They had been held at a fortress some distance from Kabul, and when news of the defeat of Akbar Khan’s army was received, they boldly hoisted the Union Jack, disarmed their guards, and marched to meet us. This was a great relief to us all, of course, as we could not help but dread the massacre of the women and children. Instead, those who survived the march are all in excellent health, led, it seems unnecessary to say, by the redoubtable Florentia Sale. If women ever receive campaign medals, she should certainly head the list.
Indeed Sale, his wife, and his poor widowed daughter, are about the only people who have come out of this sad affair with any credit, other than the gallant Dr Bryden. Elphinstone is dead, of dysentery, it appears. Well, I cannot help but suppose he would have been courtmartialled for his handling of the business had he survived. Shelton has been recalled. His future remains uncertain. He was never allowed a free hand until it was too late, but his inability to inspire his people with any spark of loyalty or vigour must remain a blot upon his career.
And Shah Shuja, the man for whom all of this misery was undertaken, was shot to death in his palace some weeks ago; his body remained mouldering for us to find.
Akbar may well be returning to Kabul. Batraj will not. We have learned that he and the Prince have quarrelled, and that he has taken himself off with his entire family, including Laura. No-one knows where they have gone, only that they rode to the west. The Thug’s destination may be Persia, or even Turkey. Who can say? At least I know that Laura is still alive, but it would seem that she is more lost to me than ever.
What is particularly galling is that, thanks to the reports of both Lady Sale and Dr Bryden, of my beloved’s heroism during the retreat and of her vain attempts to warn McNaghton and Elphinstone, her name has been entirely cleared. There can be no question but that she would be welcomed back to Bombay with open arms.
This is not the first time I have had the cup of sheer heaven dashed most cruelly from my lips.
And yet my personal affairs prosper. I seem to have again covered myself with glory during some of the skirmishes we fought on our march here, and am to get my own regiment.
Rufus the Second did not disappoint me, and has blooded his excellent set of teeth upon Afghan hides, to their great discomfort.
As to the future, I cannot say what it will hold.
12 The Flight
Batraj and his party left Kabul a week before the British marched in. There were twelve of them: Batraj and five men who were loyal to him; Laura, Nanja, Wu Li and Nanja’s twelve-year-old daughter Sharita, Sivitraj and Mary, who was now fully recovered from her injuries.
They made off to the south-west, taking the road over the high mountains, which even in September were cold and bleak as they climbed more than five thousand feet.
Every member of the party had a horse, and there were several pack mules; if Batraj refused to confide in anyone where he was going, he was certainly prepared for a lengthy journey.
So once again I am on my travels, Laura thought, being dragged around the subcontinent like the chattel I am.
Batraj himself was in a fine good humour, despite the fact that he was again a fugitive.
‘Those Afghans were never truly dedicated to driving the British out of India,’ he declared. ‘I wasted more than ten years of my life, trying to goad them into action. We are well rid of them.’
And what of my wasted years? Laura wondered. She was in her thirty-fifth year. The twenty-year-old who had dazzled Bombay as Rani of Sittapore might never have existed. Now both her mind and her body were toughened until she could stand almost anything, as she had had to do so often. She still stood straight, and her figure still seemed to attract men like flies to the honeypot. Her golden hair still tumbled down her back, longer then ever as it was never cut. And she still had her children. But where they, and she, were now bound, she had no idea. Most of the time she preferred not even to think about it.
They belonged to Batraj. And Batraj belonged to a dream rooted in the past.
*
From Kabul to Ghazni they climbed over the mountains; it was a horrendous journey. Often they proceeded in single file along narrow ledges with sheer drops of more than a thousand feet beside them, forced to trust entirely to the sure-footedness of their mounts. That Batraj had made this journey before and was apparently totally confident provided only the smallest reassurance.
Five days after leaving Kabul they came to Ghazni, situated in a mountain valley watered by its own river. Ghazni had in fact once been the principal city of Afghanistan, having been founded in the fourth century BC by Alexander the Great. There was little trace of Greek architecture still to be seen, but the city in the tenth century had become the headquarters of a Muslim dynasty whose most famous ruler Mahmud of Ghazni had been one of the most feared warriors in all Asia. Mahmud had raided into North India on fifteen separate occasions, apparently never seeking
to establish an Indian empire, as he could so easily have done, but using the riches of the subcontinent merely as an inexhaustible reservoir of wealth and slaves.
Ghaznavid power had declined in succeeding centuries. ‘The city was far more compact than Kabul, and was defended by high, thick walls. Yet its inhabitants were in a state of agitation, wondering if they were again to be visited by the fearsome bayonets of the Company army. Batraj had many friends here, for it was outside these walls that he had fought and been wounded, but even these friends were anxious for the fugitives to be on their way as quickily as possible.
*
A journey of another two hundred miles lay between Ghazni and Kandahar; Batraj estimated it would take three weeks. From Ghazni, they were able to descend to the valley of the Tarnak River, and the going became easier.
Batraj had one great fear, that of being captured by the British and publicly hanged as a murderer. Thus throughout the journey to Ghazni they had been able to do nothing more than replenish their provisions. Once they reached the Tarnak, however, he felt secure from pursuit, and allowed them more time to rest.
They were even able to enjoy the luxury of a bathe in the river, although the water was very nearly ice cold, as September was now dwindling into October, and the lowering clouds of winter were beginning to appear.
The idea of being caught in these mountains in the dead of winter, remembering as she did the horrors of the previous January, was terrifying to Laura, but Batraj merely grinned.
‘We shall be on lower ground before the first snow,’ he promised her.
Laura did not find this entirely reassuring.
*
That night they slept together for the first time since leaving Kabul. They had nothing more than a bivouac, as Batraj had not had time to organise an elaborate caravan. Hitherto on the journey Laura had slept with Mary in her arms, seeking warmth and comfort from the girl, but now Mary was sent to sleep with Sharita.
‘Will you not tell me where we are going, now?’ Laura asked.
‘South.’
‘South? But...’
‘Oh, it is necessary to travel to the west first. But soon we will turn to the south. I have friends in the south.’
‘Friends like the Afghans?’
He grinned and kissed her. ‘Better friends than the Afghans. Perhaps I should have gone to them first.’
*
They had encountered quite a few people between Kabul and Ghazni, mainly fugitives like themselves, who had exchanged nothing more than the latest information on the supposed position of the British. West of Ghazni, however, there were fewer people to be seen, although there could be no doubt that they were being watched by the hill men to whom all travellers were prospective prey. Batraj made his entire small force which, including Sivitraj, totalled seven men, ride with their weapons always at the ready, and every night two sentries were posted.
Laura realised that the Hindus felt no more secure in relation to the Muslim tribesmen than did the British, but it did her spirits good to see the way in which Sivitraj took to his responsibilities and seemed to enjoy the prospect of danger.
She felt that she had to a large extent lost her son to his stepfather, but this would have come with manhood in any event; at least there had been no time for Batraj to make him into a Thug. She was happy that he sat with her each evening for half an hour.
Every night he shared his tent with Wu Li.
Batraj also clearly thought deeply about the boy. ‘It is time to think of a wife for him,’ he remarked one evening.
‘He is not yet sixteen!’ she protested.
‘Had we been able to return to Sittapore, he would have been married long ago,’ he pointed out.
‘Well, we have not been able to return to Sittapore. And there is no wife available for him in these mountains. His requirements are attended to by Wu Li.’
‘Wu Li is a slave. The boy needs a wife. I am thinking of Sharita. She is a pretty little thing.’
‘Sharita!’ Laura cried. ‘I will not have that creature Nanja as my son’s mother-in-law.’
Batraj grinned. ‘Because she has been unswervingly faithful to me, while you have betrayed me time and again?’
She ignored that. ‘You must see it is impossible for me, Batraj.’
‘The impossibility is in your mind,’ he said enigmatically.
*
Laura was afraid he might seek to unite the couple immediately, although anything like a proper ceremony would be impossible, but the next day they encountered a group of tribesmen who informed them that a British force was marching through the valley, en route from Kandahar to Ghazni and thence to Kabul, to join Pollock’s army.
‘We must take to the hills,’ Batraj decided.
Thus the relative comfort of the valley was abandoned, and they dismounted to lead their horses up a narrow defile into the mountains which overshadowed them to either side. They had not climbed very high when Batraj called a halt, and they made camp.
That evening Batraj and Sivitraj climbed out on to a spur overlooking the river, to watch for the British. Laura went with them, Batraj raising no objection: any attempt to betray their position could lead to the death of Sivitraj, and he knew she was not going to risk that.
Soon enough they heard the drums and pipes, and the redcoats could be seen. They numbered several hundred Sepoys with mounted British officers, marching along behind their band.
‘They make war as if it were a parade,’ Batraj growled, contempt mingling strangely with admiration and respect in his voice.
Laura glanced at her son. Sivitraj’s face was consumed with passion. Yes, she thought sadly, I have lost him. She would have to work very hard to get him back.
*
The British camped for the night beneath them, and they listened to bugle calls and shouts of command which echoed up into the mountains. Laura wondered what they would give to know that Batraj the Thug was only a few hundred yards away.
For their part, they could light no fire and had to eat scraps of cold food. Nor did Batraj allow them to move for a good twenty-four hours after the British had gone on their way.
Then he decided that it would be too risky to proceed all the way to Kandahar, where there was apparently still a British garrison. This disappointed Laura, who had hoped to see the famous city, founded like Ghazni by Alexander. Indeed the name, Kandahar, was a corruption of Iskandar, which was itself a corruption of Alexander. Instead they turned south, and began a long and bitter climb over the Hada mountains.
*
The track they followed ascended to some six thousand feet, and even higher peaks rose to either side. It began to rain heavily as they began the ascent, and the ground became slippery; they were forced to dismount and lead their animals. Even so one lost its footing and went crashing down the hillside. Its piteous neighing followed them for some time and left them all gloomy and depressed.
They then climbed into the very clouds, and found themselves in a dank and frightening world where the wind constantly buffeted at them; sometimes they had to lean against each other to resist it. ‘It is not far,’ Batraj kept telling them.
It was actually some sixty miles from where they left the Khandahar road to the village of Spin Buldak on the Dori river, and on the second day they had to ford the fast-running Arghastan River, a tributary of the Dori, which rushed down through a mountain pass in a flail of white foam.
There was a rope bridge across the river, but Laura felt sick as she watched it swaying in the wind, hardly more than six feet above the tumbling water.
‘It is best we do not all cross together,’ Batraj decided, and sent two of his men ahead, both to make sure the bridge was safe, and to hold the far side against any brigands who might dispute their passage. This done, the rest of the party began to cross. Sivitraj accompanied his mother and sister and Wu Li, apparently reflecting, as Laura was, that if they were going to drown, it was best they all drown together. Slowly they inched their w
ay forward, while the bridge heaved and bucked beneath them, all sound drowned by the roar of the water: anyone falling in would not survive a second, Laura knew.
They reached the far side safely, and threw themselves on the ground as they watched the rest of the party and the animals being brought over. Batraj was as ever a bundle of energy and confident strength, crossing and recrossing the swaying bridge several times, encouraging and exhorting. Laura wondered if he was really any different from men like Mahmud and Genghis, Timur and Babur, who had ranged these mountains before him, slaughtering thousands, raping and pillaging, and yet by their energy, daring and fearlessness, carving immortal names for themselves in the pages of history.
It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that Batraj might yet still do likewise.
*
Then came the mountains, which made all that had gone before seem as nothing. When Laura remembered how she had found the journey through the jungles of the Deccan almost too much for her she wanted to laugh. She would gladly give all of her jewellery to be down there again, rather than in this increasingly icy roof of the world.
They awoke one morning to find themselves shivering and their tents half covered with snow.
‘You said we would escape this,’ Laura reminded Batraj. ‘We would have, had we been able to stay on the road,’ he argued.
The snow was at least not as heavy as in January, but they were much higher up than on the road from Kabul to the Khyber Pass, and there was a good deal of ice. But they struggled on, shawls held across their faces, huddling round the campfires at night, and now also running out of food, for they saw no game.
‘You should be used to this, Laura,’ Batraj chided.
She shuddered. ‘I had hoped never to experience it again,’ she said.
*
She worried for the children, but both Sivitraj and Mary had constitutions as strong as her own. Wu Li was a different matter. Always thin and undernourished, no matter how well she had been fed in Kabul, the Chinese girl lacked the reserves of strength to combat exhaustion and extreme cold; Laura sometimes wondered if she had ever recovered from the ordeal of January.
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