It was not until a little after sunset that Tantia got up from the temple steps and began to walk towards the shore.
The sannyasis had stirred at last, grabbed their staffs and set off after him, undoubtedly eager to divide the spoils from the sale of sacred milk.
“Get up,” commanded Sandokan. “We’ll surprise them among the thickets. Loy, stay here for the moment, it’s best he doesn’t see you.”
The small band of men crept in under the banyan trees, firing a few shots to scatter the numerous parrots chattering loudly among the branches above them.
The fakir appeared untroubled by those hunters and continued on his way, the sannyasis always following closely behind him. He had gone about five hundred metres when Sandokan and Tremal-Naik, who had taken a shortcut through the thickets, suddenly barred his path.
“Good evening, fakir!” said the Tiger of Malaysia as the Malays quickly fanned out behind him and leveled their carbines.
Tantia looked at them calmly.
“I have no more milk to sell,” he said. “And I do not sell to hunters.”
“I have not come in search of milk, my friend,” said Sandokan. “I have a more important matter to discuss.”
The gosain looked at them suspiciously.
“What do you want of me? I’m a fakir; do not trouble me with trifling matters.”
“It is a fakir that I seek.”
“Go find another one.”
“I’m afraid you alone can answer my questions,” replied Sandokan.
“What?!” exclaimed the gosain a note of unease now in his voice. “I’m but a poor man who sells sacred milk and removes the evil eye.”
“That’s exactly why we have need of you,” said Tremal-Naik. “You know how to lift a curse.”
“I do not have time right now. I must return to the city. I have an appointment with a minister at court.”
“He’ll wait,” replied Sandokan, the tone in his voice indicating he would brook no argument. “Dismiss your men and come with us.”
“I never go anywhere alone.”
“You’ll adapt! Come!”
The sannyasis, seeing that the matter was about to get out of hand, raised their staffs and formed a wall in front of the gosain.
“Make way, you scoundrels!” they bellowed.
Sandokan turned towards the Malays.
“Get rid of them!” he commanded.
The pirates charged, clutching their rifles like clubs, Bindar and Kammamuri leading the attack.
The sannyasis tried to hold their ground for a moment, but the blows came sharp and quick; their line soon broke and they scattered like rabbits, leaving the gosain standing there alone.
“Now you wretch,” said Sandokan, grabbing the fakir by the arm, “come with us.”
“Don’t kill me!” cried the gosain, terrified.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with your hide,” said Sandokan. “There isn’t enough there to make a good dholak. It’s your tongue I’m after.”
“You’re going to tear it from me!” exclaimed the gosain, trembling.
“Only if you refuse to speak. Walk.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll know soon enough.”
“I’ll give you all the evil eye.”
“Quiet, scoundrel!” commanded Tremal-Naik. “No one here is frightened by your words and your sannyasis have abandoned you. Walk!”
The Malays quickly surrounded the gosain and pushed him towards the nearby shore. Night had already fallen, when the group reached the bagla that had been hidden among the reeds.
“Anything to report?” Sandokan asked the two Dyaks who had remained behind to guard the boat.
“No, sir,” they replied in unison.
“Everyone aboard, quickly! Back to our hideout.”
“You seem anxious, Sandokan,” said Tremal-Naik.
“I won’t feel at ease until we’ve rescued Surama,” replied the pirate as he sat down at the bow. “Who knows what they’re doing to her.”
“The fakir will tell us all we need to know.”
Suddenly the sound of gunfire shattered the silence reigning over the water, thundering ominously beneath the thick forests that stretched along the riverbanks.
Sandokan sprang to his feet.
“Those are our men’s carbines!” he exclaimed.
Chapter 15
The Attack
AN OMINOUS SILENCE followed those two shots that had thundered from the left bank. The sentries at the Kariya temple had fired; Sandokan knew the sound of his men’s carbines too well to be deceived.
“Could they have spotted a spy?” Tremal-Naik asked Sandokan, who was leaning over the bagla’s prow, straining his ears to catch the slightest sound.
“It’s hard to know for certain,” replied the Tiger of Malaysia. “This doesn’t bode well; something bad is about to happen, I can feel it.”
“It could be a false alarm,” said Tremal-Naik.
“Shhh!”
Two more shots thundered from the left bank, followed seconds later by a loud volley of rifle fire.
“They’re being attacked!” exclaimed Sandokan. “Put your backs in it, men! Faster! Faster! There’s no time to waste!”
The bagla shot forward like an arrow, oars slicing through the water, Malays straining their muscles as they rowed with all their might.
Rifles and carbines continued to thunder sinisterly behind the temple hill with ever-increasing frequency. Sandokan began to pace the deck like a caged tiger. From time to time he would stop and listen, then turn to his men and shout:
“Hurry! Faster! Our men need help!”
The battle was now starting to rage, the volleys were growing louder and more intense with barely a lull between each round.
Tremal-Naik anxiously scanned the trees, searching for flashes of gunfire, his carbine level and at the ready.
The bagla raced over the waters, quickly devouring the distance before it and at last touched shore near the base of the hill.
“Drop anchor and follow me!” shouted Sandokan.
“What about the fakir?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“Leave a man to guard him! Follow me! Hurry!”
They leaped to the ground and charged in among the thickets, the din of battle muffling their every step as it echoed darkly beneath the thick vault of tara palms and banyan trees. They raced through the vegetation eager to attack, but when they were three hundred paces from the pagoda’s entrance, Sandokan signalled for all to halt.
“Wait here until we return. Come, Tremal-Naik, let’s get a look at our opponents.”
The two men dropped to the ground and crawled through a small grove of wild banana trees.
“Sikhs,” whispered Sandokan, signalling for the hunter to stop. “Just as I suspected.”
“Are there many of them?”
“About forty or so.”
Tremal-Naik crept forward a few more paces and peered through the large banana leaves.
Forty Sikh soldiers were pressed against the ground, firing without pause at the entrance to the Krishna pagoda. An officer, with an aigrette of red feathers at the front of his turban, led the attack; seven or eight men had been killed it seemed, perhaps in a failed attempt to storm the temple.
“What do you suggest we do, Sandokan?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“Attack them from behind,” replied the Tiger of Malaysia, “You and Kammamuri, however, will capture that Sikh captain. He’s vital to my plans.”
“You’ll have him dead or alive.”
“I need him alive. Let’s go back.”
They retraced their steps through the small grove and quickly reached their men.
“Ready?” asked Sandokan.
“Ready, Tiger of Malaysia,” they replied in unison, the smell of gunfire steeling them for battle.
“Kammamuri, you’ll go with Tremal-Naik,” said the pirate, then turning towards the Malays he added, “We have to let our men know we’re h
ere. We’ll fire a volley, let out a cry then draw our scimitars and charge. Understood?”
“Yes, Tiger of Malaysia!”
“Onward then!”
The small band of men almost ran into the bushes, fingers pressed against the triggers of their carbines, eager to begin. Sandokan led the charge flanked by Tremal-Naik and Kammamuri.
By the time they reached the edge of the bush, the Sikhs had advanced to within twenty paces of the pagoda’s entrance and defeat seemed imminent for the men defending the temple.
“Just in time,” murmured Sandokan.
He unsheathed his scimitar, drew one of the double-barrelled pistols from his belt, and charged forward shouting:
“Attack, Tigers of Mompracem!”
A sharp savage cry, the battle cry of those formidable warriors from the Sunda Sea, roared over the thunder of musketry, followed immediately by a volley of gunfire.
The Sikhs, surprised by that unexpected attack, quickly sprang to their feet as a cry of ‘Long live Mompracem!’ came in reply from inside the pagoda.
Sandokan and his men charged with fury, scimitars drawn, howling wildly to instill terror in their foes. Almost simultaneously, the men defending their hideout, emboldened by those reinforcements, came storming forward, trapping the Sikhs in a crossfire.
Seven or eight Indians had been felled by that first volley, about a third of their number, but still the rajah’s men would not yield. With lightning speed they fanned out in two columns, drew their scimitars and, for a moment, held their ground against that band of pirates with all the fury of desperation.
Perhaps against a lesser foe they would have triumphed, but unbeknownst to them, they were measuring themselves against the most renowned warrior in the South China Sea. With strength and vigour that belied his years, Sandokan rushed into the centre of the fray, scimitar flailing, felling a man with every swipe of his blade, dead and wounded quickly mounting about him.
The Sikhs began to waver, and after a minute more they scattered, ignoring their captain’s cries to stand and fight. Twenty Malays ran off in pursuit, firing their carbines without pause, determined to slay them all.
The captain had been the last one to retreat, but Tremal-Naik and Kammamuri had been keeping watch, and knocked him to the ground after he had barely gone a few paces.
Sandokan ran to Sambigliong. The old pirate had been guarding Kaksa Pharaum throughout the battle and the minister looked more dead than alive.
“How many men have you lost?” he asked anxiously.
“Only two, Tiger of Malaysia,” Sambigliong replied. “We all took shelter at the first sight of them.”
“We must leave here at once. Have the men gather our belongings.”
“We’re leaving?”
“The Sikhs will return tomorrow in even greater number. I’ve no desire to let them trap us inside.”
“Where shall we go then?”
“We’ll ask Bindar to advise us.”
The Malays were just returning. They had chased the rajah’s guards for five or six hundred yards, disbanding them completely, then, fearing an ambush, they had headed back towards the pagoda, firing a blast from time to time to warn the fugitives that they were still determined to fight.
“We must leave here immediately,” said Sandokan. “Take everything that may be of use and meet us at the bagla. Have two guards watch over the minister and the Sikh captain. Bindar, with me! Come, Tremal-Naik, bring four men.”
Assured the rajah’s guards no longer posed a threat, he headed for the river, accompanied by the two Indians and the four Malays.
“Do you know this area well, Bindar?” said Sandokan.
“Yes, sahib.”
“Where do you recommend we hide?”
The Assamese thought for a moment then said:
“The Benar jungle would be the safest place.”
“Where is that?”
“On the opposite bank of the river, four or five miles from here, it’s uninhabited but…”
“Continue.”
“There are tigers.”
“It matters not,” Sandokan replied with a shrug. “You’ve seen what we can do against them. You’re certain no one ever ventures there?”
“They’re far too frightened, sir.”
“Any ruins?”
“An ancient pagoda, long since abandoned.”
“Perfect.”
“It’s rumoured the baaghs have turned it into their lair.”
“Then we’ll take it from them. What do you say, Tremal-Naik, up for a hunt?”
“Always,” replied the Bengali. “It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, depending on how many we find.”
“It’s settled then,” said Sandokan. “We’ll hide there. Once we’re safe in our new lair, we’ll have a little chat with Tantia and the Sikh captain.”
“I don’t understand your fixation with the Sikhs.”
“I think they could be instrumental in helping us take the crown,” said Sandokan. “It’ll depend on their captain. Here we are, we’ll set sail as soon as our men arrive.”
They climbed aboard the bagla, which was still anchored close to shore. The Malay guard had been chatting quietly with the fakir, who had been tightly bound even though his withered arm made it highly unlikely he would attempt to escape.
“Any boats on the river?” asked Sandokan.
“No, Tiger of Malaysia,” replied the Malay. “All is quiet.”
“Raise anchor; we’ll set sail once the others have arrived.”
“I thought you’d been killed,” said the gosain, glaring at the pirate fiercely. “You won’t escape the rajah’s vengeance, you wretched thief! I’d wager you have a week left to live, no more.”
“That’s five more days than you do if you don’t tell us what we wish to know,” said Tremal-Naik. “We have a variety of means to make you speak, some far less pleasant than others.”
“I have nothing to say; I’m a poor gosain who has never done anyone any harm.”
“Is that so?” said Sandokan. “They say that just two days ago you removed the evil eye from a young woman and her entire household. Strangely, just hours later, that young woman disappeared from her very home. Abducted, her servants believe. What do you know of this?”
The fakir shuddered.
“Nothing,” he replied, feigning great surprise. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“We have a witness that claims otherwise.”
“May Brahma, Shiva and Vishnu curse you all!” shouted the gosain.
“Your words mean nothing to me,” replied Sandokan. “I’m not Indian.”
“Brahma is the most powerful god in the universe.”
“To you maybe, I don’t believe in such nonsense.”
“But your friend is Indian!”
“And he’s no superstitious fool. Enough of this! You’ll have ample chance to speak once we’ve reached our destination.”
“Your men are here,” said Tremal-Naik.
The Malays and Dyaks, twenty-six in all, were quickly advancing towards the boat, carrying crates, blankets and large sacks filled with food and ammunition. The Sikh captain and Kaksa Pharaum marched at their center, guarded by four men.
“Is someone following you?” asked the Tiger of Malaysia.
“The Sikhs have come back,” said Kammamuri.
“Quickly! Everyone aboard!”
Malays and Dyaks scrambled onto the bagla, put down their cargo and weapons and quickly manned the oars.
“You eight stand ready to fire,” said Sandokan. “Cast off!”
The bagla quickly pulled away from the shore and headed towards the opposite riverbank. The jungle was thick on that side of the river and once across, as the night was dark, the ship would be difficult to spot against the silhouette of tamarind trees.
The vessel flew over the water and was soon out of range of the Sikh’s rifles. The danger having passed, at least for the moment, Sandokan approached Bind
ar, who was scanning the shore alongside Tremal-Naik.
“Are there any villages nearby?”
“No, sahib,” replied the Indian. “No one would dare live this close to the jungle. However, there’s a small community of Brahmin priests just beyond the marshes, where the land begins to rise.”
“Brahmin priests? Here?”
“They’re a small group that prefer to have little contact with others. They speak their own language, follow the old ways and are strict in their beliefs. They paint their face and body like all the Brahmins, but glue a few grains of rice above their eyebrows. They’re a quiet people, concerned with nothing but religious matters. They won’t give us any trouble.”
“Is the Benar jungle very large?”
“It’s immense, sahib,” said Bindar.
“It will make a fine hideout,” said Sandokan. “If it’s only fifteen or twenty miles from here, we can reach Guwahati in three or four hours.”
“I wish we were closer,” said Tremal-Naik. “What if we arrive too late?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if the rajah decides to kill her?”
“He wouldn’t dare,” said Sandokan. “He thinks Yanez is an Englishman, he’d never touch her knowing that she’s under his protection. Even the rajah fears retribution from the Viceroy of Bengal.”
“And if he learns of Yanez’ intentions?”
“Then things become more complex. But I doubt they’ll catch him off guard, not with six Malays to defend him. Anyway, once we reach the pagoda the gosain will tell us all we need to know.”
“And if he refuses?”
“He won’t,” Sandokan replied coldly.
He drew his chibouk from his sash, filled it with tobacco, lit it, then sat down at the prow and rested his rifle upon his knees. The bagla continued to advance quickly, the Malays and Dyaks rowing with all their might while Bindar guided the ship from the helm.
Rattan palms, tamarind, myrtle, and nahor trees grew thick along the shore; from time to time a pack of jackals and Indian wolves would peer through the vegetation, bark and howl at the passing boat, then dart back into the jungle to search for prey.
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 15